Quotes About Empathy

I'm sure love would cure him. He needs someone to love him and look after him.' 'We all need that

I read a lot. I read everything. Novels, hundreds of novels. You learn a lot about human nature through literature.

Culta? Perdone que le diga, Víctor, pero es la primera persona que conozco que no ha sido capaz de leerse completo el diario de Ana Frank.

A todos nos pasa como a Cristo, al final nos reconocen por las heridas.

Las historias tristes ocurren a veces en lugares tristes, como las estaciones de tren o los aeropuertos. Entonces la gente lo nota y lo comenta, y todos dicen que en verdad los aeropuertos y las estaciones de tren son sitios tristísimos, tan tristes que no dan ganas de volver a viajar pues a nadie le gusta meterse de lleno en la tristeza, y encima por esos precios.

El dolor es egoísta. El que sufre se siente único y piensa que el mundo le debe algo

No estaba herida. Sólo gritaba de dolor. El fiscal se sentó entre una anciana mamacha que lloraba en quechua y un policía con un corte en la mano que goteaba sangre. Abril Rojo

Al escucharlos, Matías se veía a sí mismo compartiendo su aventuras y eso era lo que más le gustaba porque en el momento en el que le parecía formar parte de esa historia, Matías dejaba de estar triste, olvidaba sus preocupaciones y se abandonaba a un mundo en el que al final todo salía bien.

This kind of caring for oneself is not about caring for one's own happiness. It is about finding ways to exist in a world that makes it difficult to exist. This is why, this is how: those who do not have to struggle for their own survival can very easily and rather quickly dismiss those who attend to their own survival as being self-indulgent. They do not need to attend to themselves; the world does it for them.

that in some parental responses to a child coming out, this unhappiness is expressed not so much as being unhappy about the child being queer, but as being unhappy about the child being unhappy.

And note then: you can killjoy not as a deliberate or intentional act; you might even be trying to participate in the joy of others. You can killjoy because you are not properly attuned to the requirements of a social system.

Most friends had fallen away over the years. Either they'd started avoiding me, as if my grief and bad luck were contagious, or I'd started to avoid them, unwilling to give them the chance to disappoint me. Besides, too much time around normal people made me feel like an alien, unwanted and ugly, fluent in a different language.

my intention that people will feel like throttling her

Why bother with other people's worlds made of words? was his philosophy.

Try a little tenderness ...

It came down to the smallest things, really, that a person could do to say I'm sorry, to say it's okay, to say I forgive you. The tiniest of declarations that built, one on top of the other, until there was something solid beneath your feet. And then… and then. Who knew?

I don't yell back at my mother. When I'm angry or scared or upset, I don't yell. I stay quiet. I've seen how she is, how she would get with Kent and with me and with other people, life if someone at the pharmacy got in the wrong line or asked too long a question, or if someone on the bus accidentally bumped her. I've watched her my whole life, the way people react to her. It doesn't actually help you get what you want, yelling and being like that. It only makes people think bad of you.

It was knowing someone else thought about me for more than one second, maybe thought about me when I wasn't there.

I can be human to strangers and coworkers, just not to the people who actually care about me.

Because we were having a family crisis. Your family had a crisis? Yes, Ethan. My family. Had a crisis. A crisis was had by my family.

Ethan didn't know anything about the fat girl, the Cootie Twin, the loner and reject. The only person who had ever picked Jennifer Harris was Cameron Quick, and sometimes when I was with Ethan I felt the smallest twinge of guilt, like being with him was a betrayal. The one thing that could never die or be buried was my loyalty to Cameron for everything he'd done for me and what we'd been through together, even if that loyalty was to a ghost.

The sight of them (her friends) let a little air into her soul.

That crazy kind of laughing that feels almost the same as crying.

She's the only one who knows. Knows what? What it's like to be us.