Quotes About Compassion

Okay, so you're not perfect. Who is? Sure, Susan makes sense. But my heart doesn't care about sense. My heart never says: _Why?_ Only: _Who?_

And the more you love someone, the safer it is to be mad at them. Love can handle mad, no problem.

What she saw, she felt. Her eyes went straight to her heart. The old man on the bench, for example, made her cry. The lumberjack ants made her laugh. The door of many colours put her in such a snit of curiosity that i had to drag her away;she felt she could not proceed with her life until she knocked on such a door.

History sits on our shoulders, while reading opens our hearts.

OK, so you're not perfect. Who is?

For years the strangers among us had passed sullenly in the hallways; now we looked, we nodded, we smiled.

Don't hate him either. You shouldn't hate anybody ... If you start by hating one or two people, you won't be able to stop. Pretty soon you'll hate a hundred people ... A little hatred goes a long, long way. It grows and grows. And it's hungry. ... You keep feeding it more and more people, and the more it gets, the more it wants. It's never satisfied. And pretty soon it squeezes all the love out of your heart ... and all you'll have left is a hateful heart.

And whenever she saw Palmer with them at school, she acted as if she did not know him. Palmer sensed that she was doing this for his sake.

Destroy your life; then put it back together.You'll get great material, meet some fascinating characters and – side benefit – the skills you develop will give you greater compassion, insight and range with the people you create on the page – or run into off of it.

I deserve no punishment at all for being who I am.

This man's name was Stalin. In the portraits and photographs he had a kind face and compassionate eyes. He looked like a loving grandfather or uncle, long unseen, wanting to take you into his arms. Gavrila read and told me many stories about Stalin's life. At my age young Stalin already had fought for the rights of the underprivileged, resisting the centuries-old exploitation of the helpless poor by the pitiless rich.

One time we attended a child with a rotting leg, covered with wrinkled brown skin, from which a bloody yellow pus oozed. The stench from the leg was so strong that even Olga had to open the door every few moments and let in a draft of fresh air. All day long I stared at the gangrenous leg while the child alternately sobbed and fell asleep.

It's only possible to provide help when it's asked for. The rest of the time, all you can give is love.

Well, here's something you should know: heroes are willing to pause their own lives to help you.

Didn't say," Mr. Sullivan said, pretending the deep-fryer knobs needed fiddling with. "I'm really sorry about what happened to your friends.

we all just do the best we can. And that's enough.

cruelty and hope should never be served together.

Bit yells, Homeless Hungry? Dude, I invented Homeless Hungry. The kid just waves.

It's another mystery of parenting: how you can love your kids without always liking them.

True sacrifice is painless.

Guterak looked over. "Hey, you got your hair cut." "Yeah." Remy put the cap back on. "What made you do that?" "I shot myself in the head last night." "Well." Paul drove quietly for a moment, staring straight ahead. "It looks good.

When you substitute the "I" for the "we" even illness becomes wellness

You are more capable of being loved than you understand. And—Celeste, this is important—you nurture and love and protect more than anyone I have known. Or could know. Don't take that away from me. From us.

You've heard all of my stories. All of my pain. Let me hold some of yours.