Quotes About Empathy

Be nice to Fairyland. She is old and tender of heart and when her feelings are hurt, she cries volcanoes.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone you do not make them tell war stories.

The only question is this: Do you have enough empathy and yearning and desperation to connect to others outside yourself and scream into the void in four-part harmony?

As far as quality housemates to be found on Planet Earth, it goes: dolphins, elephants, orangutans, octopi, then every single spider, then Joan of Arc, the Dalai Lama, Mr. Rogers, Freddie Mercury, my nan, all the scorpions, German measles, a dented recycling bin, and then maybe some of the rest of us.

People who share a secret share a heart.

Will you beat me if I say no?" he whispered fearfully. September thought she might cry. "Oh...oh dear. Not all the world is like that. Well. I am not like that.

no one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough

It's in our blood—we heard their distresses like a rung bell in our bones.

Is there anything which does not do as you say?" the girl asked archly. He blushed. "You know my cry. I do not know yours," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

Be a good neighbor and you will have good neighbors

Storytelling can save you. Both the telling and the listening.

Careful," Lye said. "I am fragile." "That's all right," said September suddenly, feeling the warm cinnamon courage of her bath bubble up inside her, fresh and bright. "I'm not.

You can't kiss a girl into anything.

Now, in the Kingdom of School, to be asked into another child's room is like being asked inside their heart.

And the answer is: You are wrong. The Faeries are not gone. But they are no longer what they were. I watched it and did not help them, though I could have. I cheered. I cheered and I wept and I was glad. Perhaps I should not have been. Perhaps laughing at agony is a Fairy's game and I should not have moved my pieces on their board.

September smiled at her wonderful friends in all their colors and bright eyes and gentle ways. "You know, in Fairyland-Above they said that the underworld was full of devils and dragons. But it isn't so at all! Folk are just folk, wherever you go, and it's only a nasty sort of person who thinks a body's a devil just because they come from another country and have different notions.

Folk are just folk, wherever you go, and it's only a nasty sort of person who thinks a body's a devil just because they come from another country and have different notions.

It is not possible to posses so many colors and a hard heart.

Tell me a tale in which a woman is wed, and she is happy." The boy's lip trembled, and there was pity in him like a stranging vine. He knelt at Dinarzad's bare feet, and held her hands in his. "I do not know any stories like that", he whispered.

How dare they speak so unkindly of stories? Stories never did anything to them! Stories are only here to love you and look after you and show you a good time… Stories don't even ask anything in return but not to have grape juice spilled on them, and, every once in a while, to be thought of fondly, years and years after you shut their covers.

She listens, and I wish I could give her a little gold trophy for it, but I can't, because of all the things Fuckwits gave trophies for, they never thought listening like nothing exists but time and words was half as important as losing a volleyball tournament.

I readied myself for the great effort of speaking with the throat-and-belly instead of the mind-and-heart. It is altogether a different skill.

still not entirely amenable to having this conversation that would not stop having him.

Still, he's a good sort, even if he grumbles about having to wear the tiara.