Quotes About Empathy

I looked up at the dark sky and prayed to God for a better break in life and a better chance to do something for the little people I loved.

We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.

Nevertheless we understood each other on all levels of madness...

But there's no joy at all, people say Oh well he's drunk and happy let him sleep it off--The poor drunkard is *crying*--He's crying for his mother and father and great brother and great friend, he's crying for help. (p.111)

He no longer cared about anything (as before) but now he also cared about everything in principle; that is to say, it was all the same to him and he belonged to the world and there was nothing he could do about it.

A man cannot impart the true feeling of things to others unless he himself has experienced what he is trying to tell of.

We understood each other on other levels of madness.

When I got better I realized what a rat he was, but then I had to understand the impossible complexity of his life, how he had to leave me there, sick, to get on with his wives and woes.

Practice charity without holding in mind any conceptions about charity, for charity after all is just a word.

It was probably the pivotal point of our friendship when he realized I had actually spent some hours thinking about him and his troubles, and he was trying to place that in his tremendously involved and tormented mental categories. Something clicked in both of us.

I had an overwhelming urge to close my eyes in company. I think the girls were terrified of this. "What's he always sitting with his eyes closed for?

Modern barber college, Smith eyes closed suffers a haircut fearing its ugliness 50 cents, a barber student olive-skinned 'Garcia' on his coat, two blond small boys one with feared face and big ears watching from seats, tell him 'You're ugly little boy & you've got big ears' he'd weep and suffer and it wouldn't even be true, the other thinfaced conscious concentrated patched bluejeans and scuffed shoes who watches me delicate, suffering child that grows hard and greedy with puberty.

Life is life, and kind is kind.

I'm going to write ceaselessly about the dignity of human beings no matter who and or what they are, and the less dignity a person has the fewer words I'll use.

Nonetheless we understood each other on other levels of madness...

This is the way I like it, when you get going there's just no need to talk, as if we were animals and just communicated by silent telepathy

This is the way I like it, when you get going there's just no need to talk, as if we were animals and just communicated by silent telepathy

But what's all this giving of ourselves, what's there to give that'll help anybody

We communicate to each other depthlessly, without the words we use.

Resolutely and firmly I repeated what I said—'Come to New York with me; I've got the money.' I looked at him; my eyes were watering with embarrassment and tears. Still he stared at me. Now his eyes were blank and looking through me. It was probably the pivotal point of our friendship when he realized I had actually spent some hours thinking about him and his troubles, and he was trying to place that in his tremendously involved and tormented mental categories.

After all a homeless man has reason to cry, everything in the world is pointed against him.

The mad have unkind hearts.

Kenneth Wood was sitting on the windowsill looking at him sardonically, yet with that sadness that always happened when they looked at each other - as though there was something they knew that nobody else knew, a crazy sorrowful knowledge of themselves in the middle of the pitiable world.

I lay in bed and thought about how easy it was to hurt a person. It didn't have to be physical. All you had to do was take a good hard kick at something they cared about.