#consolation

That is the consolation of a little mind; you have the fun of changing it without impeding the progress of mankind. ↗

— Frank Moore Colby

#consolation #fun #little #mankind #mind

When the soul drifts uncertainly between life and the dream, between the mind's disorder and the return to cool reflection, it is in religious thought that we should seek consolation. ↗

— Gerard De Nerval

#consolation #cool #disorder #dream #drifts

I was feeling lonely without her, but the fact that I could feel lonely at all was consolation. Loneliness wasn't such a bad feeling. It was like the stillness of the pin oak after the little birds had flown off. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#loneliness #love #love

Kiss me out of desire, but not consolation. ↗

— Jeff Buckley

#desire #kiss #me #out

The greater the artist, the greater the doubt. Perfect confidence is granted to the less talented as a consolation prize. ↗

— Robert Hughes

#confidence #consolation #doubt #granted #greater

Every man, either to his terror or consolation, has some sense of religion. ↗

— Heinrich Heine

#either #every #every man #his #man

If you are good at in the art of finding consolation, it means that you have the best medicine after the disasters. ↗

— Mehmet Murat ildan

#art

A love of nature is a consolation against failure. ↗

— Berthe Morisot

#consolation #failure #love #nature

This, then, is the ultimate, that is only, consolation: simply that someone shares some of your own feelings and has made of these a work of art which you have the insight, sensitivity, and — like it or not — peculiar set of experiences to appreciate. Amazing thing to say, the consolation of horror in art is that it actually intensifies our panic, loudens it on the sounding-board of our horror-hollowed hearts, turns terror up full blast, all the while reaching for that perfect and deafening amplitude at which we may dance to the bizarre music of our own misery. ↗

— Thomas Ligotti

#consolation #horror #art

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief- woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing — Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling- ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'. O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. ↗

— Gerard Manley Hopkins

#depression #despair #grief #suffering #age