Quotes About Compassion

I don't forgive him, I said. Hell, no, you don't. And why should you? So he can feel better? Get on with his life? And what's he done to help you get on with yours?

You want to keep looking? I asked. Yeah, maybe. I'll leave you to it, then. I started for the door. No. He said it quickly, and reached for my arm, but stopped before he touched me. I mean, if you're tired, sure, but you don't have to. Derek doesn't want her to leave ?

A G-Rated story? About taking some deformed baby and locking him up? And if it was true, and this poor guy had been locked up in there for decades, and someone threw in a perfectly good woman, what the hell do you think he'd do with her? Play Parcheesi?

Life experience. I can talk it up, vow to broaden my horizons, but I'm still limited to the experiences with my life. How can a person understand an experience that lies completely outside her own? She can see it, feel it, imagine what it would be like to live it, but it's no different from seeing a movie on a screen and saying, "Thank God that's not me".

I'd always thought of myself as an open-minded person. I had no patience with anyone who put down other kids because of their race, religion, or sexuality. But that's just one kind of open-mindedness. There's another kind, too, the kind that's willing to see people for who they really are and admit when you were wrong about them. That's the part I still need to work on.

The look she gave me reminded me of when is was seven and I'd proudly informed out housekeeper that I'd donated half my clothing to a charity drive at school. It had seemed perfectly sensible to me-I didn't need so much stuff-but she'd stared at me like Margaret was now, with a mix of horror and disbelief.

I put you through hell and then I only made it worse, all the mistakes I made trying to get you back.' 'I've forgiven you.' 'Forgive, yes. Understand, yes. Forget, no.

I love that woman. The only thing I want is for her to be happy. I'll do whatever it takes to see that happen. Do you get that?

I can't stop wanting to help, and by 'help,' I really mean guide, and by 'guide,' I really mean protect. That has nothing to do with you and whether you can take care of yourself. It's about me and what I want, which is to make life easier for you, because I know it isn't easy and it's only getting harder, and I'm scrambling madly to smooth those rough edges before you get hurt.

Schizo. It didn't matter how many times Dr. Gill compared it to a disease or physical disability, it wasn't the same thing. It just wasn't. I had schizophrenia. If I saw two guys on the sidewalk, one in a wheelchair and one talking talking to himself, which would I rush to open a door for, and which would I cross the road to avoid?

This was a doctor. Sworn to heal, not to judge. But judge she did, in the twist of her lips and the chill of her tone.

I had no patience with anyone who put down other kids because of their race, religion, or sexuality. But that's just one kind of open-mindedness. There's another kind, too, the kind that's willing to see people for who they really are and admit when you were wrong about them.

He watched as her sister read it. Watched as her face crumpled, as her shoulders shook. Ashy. Caught her and held her, and they fell against each other.

Only humans kill for sport.

We need to slow down for you. You're in pain and you're not going to remind us of that." "It isn't that bad. Really. I--" "See? Gotta be a tough guy." I lowered my voice so the others wouldn't hear. "How's your head?" "I didn't hit my head. Not yet anyway." "You know what I mean. Your headaches." "I'm fine.

You could have stayed with my mom today," I said as Daniel navigated the potholes and ruts. "You've got to be hurting." "Nope. Don't feel a thing." "Tough guy," I said. "No, well-medicated guy.

I tried to stand, but Daniel made me sit on the ground as he checked me out. He squeezed my shoulder and I winced. "Just bruised," I said. "I can walk." Rafe jogged over to us. "She was driving? Is she okay?" "Yes, she is," I said, getting to my feet.

We walked about fifteen minutes before we heard an oncoming car. Corey stepped into the middle of the road. A pickup whipped around the curve. Corey waved his arms. The guy in the pickup laid on his horn and veered past, sending Corey stumbling as his bad knee gave way. Daniel and I helped him up. "Oww…," he said. "There'd have been a bigger oww if he hadn't swerved," I said.

I wanted to try rescuing her anyway, but she said no." "Too bad dogs can't talk," Sam said. I glanced over at her. "Um, we're all feeling bad about Hayley," Corey said. "Don't interrupt by wishing we could question the dog.

I do not judge lives that have seen the kind of hardship I struggle to comprehend.

Corey was already gone, heading for the stairs again. He took them two at a time. Then he pitched forward, hands clutching his head as he let out something between a moan and a strangled cry. Daniel raced upstairs to help him to his feet…and Corey promptly puked on him. "You were done with that shirt, right?

I think we should try to find Rafe." I turned to her. "I know you liked him. Everyone's focusing on me, but you lost him, too." "No, I didn't. He was yours.

Hey, I skinned my palm, Tori said. Ground it up pretty bad. You need to check Chloe's stitches, too, Derek said. She got cut with glass a few days ago. They fixed her up, but it should be looked at. Tori waved her injured palm. Anyone? Anyone? She rolled her eyes. Guess not. It looks sore, I said. We should get some iodine on it. She gave me a wan smile. I can always count on you, can't I? Guess I know who sent the cavalry back t rescue me.

We'll talk on the way," he said. "We really need to get going, and if Corey's getting a headache--" "It's not bad," Corey interjected. "I'll be--" "You won't be fine. We need to look after that first.