Quotes About Compassion

My dear, there is no blame, where there lives a passion like that: do we not know it? Rest at peace. We are your children; and we love you.

And, surprisingly, it was Lymond's voice which said sharply, 'You cannot debar a human being from love!

Jerott, who had wished to be alone for his own sake as well as for Lymond's, closed his eyes as he sat under the orange trees, and prayed for Francis Crawford, who did not recognize love, and for himself, who did.

Come in,' he said. 'You can use Adam's rooms.' His hand, moving upwards, drew the fair, tangled hair clear of Lymond's eyes and checked, at the shudder that ran jarring through from his fingertips. Lymond dropped his hands. He made no protest. He did not look up. But unimpeded at last, Jerott could see the look on his face and give it, sickeningly, its correct interpretation.

There is little you cannot already guess. You know now what you want. You are about to learn how to give. But the hardest lesson of all is accepting. Am I not right?

As everyone keeps insisting, parentage doesn't matter. Love him for what he is.

You see," said Marthe. "I am not here to mock. I have worn out my revenge. You have guided me into a world which has been closed to me all my life. You have shown me that what I hold by, you hold by and more. You have shown me strength I do not possess, and humanity I thought belonged only to women. You are a man, and you have explained all men to me….

Lymond moved swiftly from Jerott's side to where the fine hair, curling like silk, lay on the Geomaler's arm; and bending his head, kissed the dead child, as he had not kissed the living, full on the mouth.

I think it would be truer to say,' Philippa said, 'that both of us at the time had our reasons for hurting you.

Sometimes,' said Míkál, 'one must travel to find what is love.' 'Sometimes,' said Philippa stoutly, 'one must travel to find what is kindness. I know what is——I know what love is.

I require you, if you mean what you say about helping, to be a young ass in Aleppo, not Zakynthos.

It began eighteen months ago, Lady Culter. He has tried to end his life twice. Once Archie brought him back. Now I have done the same. We have interfered in what doesn't concern us. He belongs to himself and is at his own disposal. Or else what are we?

Richard Crawford, his brother's wrist in his hand, laid it down gently and turned to him. "We are," he said, "at least no less than the animals. We are members of a race, and of a kingdom, and of a family. The world has borrowed his strength often enough: can we not lend him ours when he needs it? What can be done? What is wrong?

I wasn't offering her pity, Mrs. Caswell said impatiently. Tragedies don't interest me, tragedies and heartbreaks are all alike, what matters is how a person meets them, how they survive them. Given the inevitability of losses and disappointments in life, that's where the challenge is and the uniqueness. I was offering her sympathy.

Do you like Magda too?" His gaze left the gate to sweep the courtyard. "She seems pleasant enough when she's not drugged. But then she nearly always is, isn't she?" He

make sense out of a world that could produce trips to the moon and silicon chips and computer robots and satellites, yet never touch the impoverished hearts that could still torture, terrorize and kill without mercy or feeling.

We cannot afford to be separate. . . . We have to see that all of us are in the same boat.

You never teach a subject, you always teach a child. You teach children in a way that they will learn, and then things will fall in place for them.

It's not the innocent young things that need gentle handling--it's the ones that have been frightened and hurt.

If men will not understand the meaning of judgement, they will never come to understand the meaning of grace.

Harriet had long ago discovered that one could not like people any the better, merely because they were ill, or dead—still less because one had once liked them very much.

He has the valuable quality of being fond of people without wanting to turn them inside out.

Nobody minds coarseness, but one must draw the line at cruelty -Lord Peter Wimsey

Poor little Hilary Thorpe wasn't in church,' she observed. 'Such a nice child. I should have liked you to see her. But she's quite prostrated, poor child, so Mrs Gates tells me. And you know, the village people do stare so at anybody who's in trouble and they will want to talk and condole. They mean well, but it's a terrible ordeal.