Quotes About Sympathy

It's all right, little woman, take my word for it. If I were you, I'd cry. You'll see things differently through your tears.

The worst sin toward our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them -- that's the essense of inhumanity.

The hardened soul melts at the tones of the singer, at the unspeakable pathos of the sounds that cannot lie; one almost believes—one believes at least in the belief of others. At last one understands, and is purged of intolerance and cynical contempt, and would kneel with the rest, in sheer human sympathy!

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

Marriage must be a relation either of sympathy or of conquest.

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.

But would I get you, if I were an innkeeper?

He had a moment of compassion.

People can share in the joke. Nobody can share in your anguish.

I don't mind being a bit like you. I hope you don't mind being a bit like me.

We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.

the feeling of distress is the root of benevolence, therefore a benevolent man is ever mindful of those who are suffering and in distress.

How tolerable misfortunes appear when they affect only other people! How strong the human body seems when it's another man's flesh that bleeds! How easy it is to look death in the face when it's another man's turn!

Hun likte å le, og hun syntes synd på folk - Dickens-siden ved deg, vesle mor, pleide han å si.

I know her by intuition as if she were inside my head.

He could feel the pain of her heart beating strongly against his own.

She had inhibited her sympathy, one genuine sympathetic impulse would have ruined her.

you want to understand everything sympathetically. It can't be done. One must just blunder on. Truth lies in blundering on.

Those were the tortures of the night. The tortures of the day consisted in pretending to eat, pretending to play, pretending to be happy, passing the hours, enduring the sympathetic looks and the loving remarks.

Bereavement is my occupation and it absorbs me completely. You want me to touch you, to look at you with sympathy. I cannot.

First he couldn't share their happiness, now he couldn't relate to their despair.

Pain did curious things to him. It made him sensitive to the pain of others.

El Aprendiz tartamudeó: —Brinsley Sheridan Cooper, del Setenta y ocho, señor. Harlan casi experimentó cierta simpatía por el muchacho. Solo diecisiete Siglos de distancia del suyo propio. Eran casi unos vecinos en el Tiempo.

Oh, men have no compassion on themselves!