Quotes About Compassion

The difficult task of knowing another soul is not for young gentleman whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes.

We know he had suffered keenly from the belief that there was a tinge of dishonour in his lot; but there are some cases, and his was one of them, in which the sense of injury breeds not the will to inflict injuries and climb over them as a ladder, but a hatred of all injury.

Tem dó do fardo alheio, porque o seu peso errante Poderá visitar-te a ti e a mim.

I have always been thinking of the different ways in which Christianity is taught, and whenever I find one way that makes it a wider blessing than any other, I cling to that as the truest — I mean that which takes in the most good of all kinds, and brings in the most people as sharers in it. It is surely better to pardon too much, than to condemn too much. But I should like to see Mr. Farebrother and hear him preach.

is so painful in you, Celia, that you will look at human beings as if they were merely animals with a toilet, and never see the great soul in a man's face.

have always been thinking of the different ways in which Christianity is taught, and whenever I find one way that makes it a wider blessing than any other, I cling to that as the truest—I mean that which takes in the most good of all kinds, and brings in the most people as sharers in it. It is surely better to pardon too much, than to condemn too much.

But selfish people always think their own discomfort of more importance than anything else in the world: I see enough of that every day.

Stupefaction is not resignation; and it is stupefaction to remain in ignorance,–to shut up all the avenues by which the life of your fellow-men might become known to you.

I suppose one reason why we are seldom able to comfort our neighbours with our words is that our goodwill gets adulterated, in spite of ourselves, before it can pass our lips. We can send black pudding and pettitoes without giving them a flavour of our own egoism; but language is a stream that is almost sure to smack of a mingled soil.

Do not think of me sorrowfully on your wedding-day. I have remembered your words—that I may live to be one of the best of women, who make others glad that they were born. I do not yet see how that can be, but you know better than I. If it ever comes true, it will be because you helped me. I only thought of myself, and I made you grieve. It hurts me now to think of your grief. You must not grieve any more for me. It is better—it shall be better with me because I have known you.

Pray tell me what it is," said Dorothea, anxiously, also rising and going to the open window, where Monk was looking in, panting and wagging his tail. She leaned her back against the window-frame, and laid her hand on the dog's head; for though, as we know, she was not fond of pets that must be held in the hands or trodden on, she was always attentive to the feelings of dogs, and very polite if she had to decline their advances.

She seems to have what I never saw in any woman before—a fountain of friendship towards men—a

On the other hand, she was disproportionately indulgent towards the failings of men, and was often heard to say that these were natural.

What do we live for, if not to make the world less difficult for each other?

It would be very petty of us who are well and can bear things, to think much of small offences from those who carry a weight of trial.

It is seldom that the miserable can help regarding their misery as a wrong inflicted by those who are less miserable.

What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult to others?

What is your religion?" said Dorothea. "I mean—not what you know about religion, but the belief that helps you most?" "To love what is good and beautiful when I see it," said Will.

For my part I am very sorry for him. It

The difficult task of knowing another soul is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes.

it is astonishing how pleasantly conscience takes our encroachments on those who never complain or have nobody to complain for them.

I should like to make life beautiful – I mean everybody's life. And then all this immense expense of art, that seems somehow to lie outside life and make it no better for the world, pains one. It spoils my enjoyment of anything when I am made to think that most people are shut out from it.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?

If art does not enlarge men's sympathies, it does nothing morally.