#comfort

Shooting Willoughby carrying Marianne up the path. ... Male strength -- the desire to be cradled again? ... I'd love someone to pick me up and carry me off. Frightening. Lindsay assures me I'd start to fidget after a while. She's such a comfort. ↗

— Emma Thompson

#empowerment #filming #gender #independence #men

You keep me here. You can't live in a world where you don't know where and what I am doing. We inside each others souls. ↗

— Chimnese Davids

#seeking-comfort #love

Love comforts, it is gentle, it is warm and you can feel it within your entire being. ↗

— Ellen J. Barrier

#gentleness #love #warmth #love

Let go with me. Let me comfort you with my body...there's no shame in forgetting for a night even if you know you'll remember in the morning. ↗

— Tiffany Reisz

#love #love

If I could take away all your pain or make the sun shine through the rain That's what I would do for you Just a moment of happiness would mean so much, A loving kiss,A butterfly's touch That's what I wish for you A sweet melody of springtime wrapped in a cloud An armful of promise so strong....and so proud Aiden, you are a brave and wonderful child so fair Your smile brightens the world with a message of hope beyond compare. ↗

— Carol Clemente O'Malley

#love

When I am about to embark on a difficult journey, I comfort myself by reading the accounts of the great nineteenth-century travellers, men like Stanley, Burton, Speke, Burckhardt and Barth. ↗

— Tahir Shah

#journey #reading #travel-writers #men

I sat on a toilet watching the water run thinking what an odd thing tourism is. You fly off to a strange land, eagerly abandoning all the comforts of home and then expend vast quantities of time and money in a largely futile effort to recapture the comforts you wouldn’t have lost if you hadn’t left home in the first place. ↗

— Bill Bryson

#home #tourism #money

Reading Aloud to My Father I chose the book haphazard from the shelf, but with Nabokov's first sentence I knew it wasn't the thing to read to a dying man: The cradle rocks above an abyss, it began, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. The words disturbed both of us immediately, and I stopped. With music it was the same -- Chopin's Piano Concerto — he asked me to turn it off. He ceased eating, and drank little, while the tumors briskly appropriated what was left of him. But to return to the cradle rocking. I think Nabokov had it wrong. This is the abyss. That's why babies howl at birth, and why the dying so often reach for something only they can apprehend. At the end they don't want their hands to be under the covers, and if you should put your hand on theirs in a tentative gesture of solidarity, they'll pull the hand free; and you must honor that desire, and let them pull it free. ↗

— Jane Kenyon

#daughters #dying #fathers #grief #music

The man who has many answers is often found in the theaters of information where he offers, graciously, his deep findings. While the man who has only questions, to comfort himself, makes music. ↗

— Mary Oliver

#comfort #music #questions #music

Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two, who had never seen each other until that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marveled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I would go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us. ↗

— Arthur Conan Doyle

#comfort #dark-things #holding-hands #instinct #love