Quotes About Compassion

We are sorry, we are sorry. Sorry you were caught, I said. Sorry that you thought I was weak, but you were wrong.

It was so simple. If you want it, I will do it. If it would make you happy, I will go with you. Is there a moment that a heart cracks?

How many of us would be granted pardon if our true hearts were known?

I do not think anyone can say what is in someone else.

No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from.

I wish he had let you all die

In grief, men must help each other, though they are enemies.

It was so simple. If you want it, I will do it. If it would make you happy, I will go with you.

This was the cruelty of adults. Do you understand?

His trust was a part of him, as much as his hands or his miraculous feet. And despite my hurt, I would not wish to see it gone, to see him as uneasy and fearful as the rest of us, for any price.

No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from." "But what if he is your friend?" Achilles had asked him, ... [o]r your brother? Should you treat him the same as a stranger?" "You ask a question that philosophers argue over," Chiron had said. "He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else's friend and brother. So which life is more important?

It was so simple. If you want it, I will do it. If it would make you happy, I will go with you. Is there a moment that a heart cracks? But a cracked heart was not enough, and I had grown wise enough to know it.

I did not see the worst of him. Even at his best he was not an easy man. But he was a friend to me in a time when I needed one." "It is strange to think of a goddess needing friends." "All creatures that are not mad need them.

I could have stopped them," he said. The skin of his face was very pale; his voice was hoarse. "I was close enough. I could have saved her." I shook my head. "You could not have known." He buried his face in his hands and did not speak. I held him and whispered all the bits of broken comfort I could find.

The beginning of hope. We have given each other wounds, but they are not mortal.

Perhaps she thought I hated her. She did not know that I almost asked him, a hundred times, to be a little kinder to her. You do not have to humiliate her so thoroughly, I thought. But it was not kindness he lacked; it was interest.

he buired his face in his hands and did not speak. i held him and whispered all the bits of broken comfort i could find.

He is lost in Agamemnon and Odysseus' wily double meanings, their lies and games of power. They have confounded him, tied him to a stake and baited him. I stroke the soft skin of his forehead. I would untie him if I could. If he would let me.

If it were a man, I wondered if I would pity him. But it was not a man. When I passed back by the pen, his friends would stare at me with pleading faces. They moaned and squealed, and pressed their snouts to the earth. We are sorry, we are sorry. Sorry you were caught, I said. Sorry that you thought I was weak, but you were wrong

If they did not weep, I would not either.

To horses, dogs and cats, to birds in cages, to pigs in sties, to sheep in folds, to cattle in stalls—to them all he sang his song and danced his dance! When he was eating out-of-doors he would pay court to the nearest toad or frog or blind-worm. When he was sucking an orange before going to bed, he would make overtures to a spider.

If no one were allowed to be thrilled by anything, as long as someone is made wretched by something, the life of the whole planet would perish!

He had the distracted chuckle of troubled old people who look within, keeping watch on failing organs.

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