Quotes About Compassion

There is a mercy which is weakness, and even treason against the common good.

When death comes it is never our tenderness that we repent from, but our severity.

The most solid comfort one can fall back upon is the thought that the business of one's life is to help in some small way to reduce the sum of ignorance, degradation and misery on the face of this beautiful earth.

Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles. What do we live for if not to make the world less difficult for each other?

Different taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.

One way of getting an idea of our fellow-countrymen's miseries is to go and look at their pleasures.

I've never any pity for conceited people, because I think they carry their comfort about with them.

These fellow mortals, every one, must be accepted as they are.

We hand folks over to God's mercy, and show none ourselves.

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

Selfish— a judgment readily passed by those who have never tested their own power of sacrifice.

How beautiful a day can be When kindness touches it!

Almost everyone will be nice to almost everyone, using money taken from a few.

Spare all I have, and take my life.

In your business or in your close relationships, if you want people to perform Herculean feats on your behalf, they must know that you care about them.

Forgiveness is that subtle thread that binds both love and friendship. Without forgiveness, you may not even have a child one day.

Filling a need is not merely good business; it's a basic attitude towards life. If you see a need, do whatever you can to meet that need.

It is good, as I have said, to be neither victim nor victimizer. Unfortunately, it is not possible. What

For example, if a starving man pulls a gun on you and you get the upper hand, you will likely let him go because you will feel sorry for him. That's the kind of person you are." "And what kind of person are you?" His face was hard. "The kind who shoots first.

I'm sorry, I can't hear you. My ears are still ringing from that big boom your head made when it hit the stairs. Is your brain okay? Because your skull sounded hollow.

This book was started during the first wave of COVID pandemic, when pictures of bodies loaded into refrigerated trucks were coming out of New York. It came about because an ICU nurse emailed us and asked us to post something, anything, because reading our work on her short break between grueling shifts kept her sane.

The world needs more good people in it, and my son will be a good person.

What happened? I asked quietly. I lost some people, [Rogan] said. There was an awful finality in his voice. I hadn't thought he cared. I'd thought he viewed his people as tools and took care of them because tools had to be kept in good repair, but this sounded like genuine grief — that complicated cocktail of guilt, regret, and overwhelming sadness you felt when someone close to you died. It broke you and made you feel helpess. Helpless wasn't even in Rogan's vocabulary.

I dipped my head so I could look into his eyes. The monster at my table looked ready to cry. I'd managed to make a teenager depressed. Maybe I could shoot some fish in a barrel for an encore.