Brutal Comforting Quotes

Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until, in our own despair, against our will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God. ~ Aeschylus

It's so easy to believe that today's going to be the same as yesterday, and most of the time it is the same as yesterday, and so it just goes on, one day after another, blending into a comforting sameness. Until it stops. I ~ Benedict Jacka

Marry me, Lada. It is the perfect solution." Lada laughed. Mehmed's smile grew, until he realized her laugh was not a sweet breeze of delight, but a brutal desert wind carrying stinging sand in its wake. "I will never marry. ~ Kiersten White

Capitalism is a pretty brutal place. ~ Charlie Munger

In that intensely busy time of children and work, soup became my stalwart friend and I learned its true value. Anyone who's been there knows. You're busy, too much to do, time vanishes, the kids are relentless, and everyone is hungry all the time. Something as comforting, delicious, and practical as soup is like gold. ~ Anna Thomas

I struggle to keep my hard, expressionless mask in place. The doctor's most powerful weapon has always been his particular brand of brutal honesty. Bruises fade, but words like that fester. ~ Cristin Terrill

You have to stop letting me do this," he bit off, half-angrily.
"If you'll stop leaning on me so that I can get my hands on a blunt object, I'll be happy to…!"
He kissed the words into oblivion. "It isn't a joke," he murmured into her mouth. His hips moved in a gentle, sensuous sweep against her hips. He felt her shiver.
"That's…new," she said with a strained attempt at humor.
"It isn't," he corrected. "I've just never let you feel it before." He kissed her slowly, savoring the submission of her soft, warm lips. His hands swept under the blouse and up under her breasts in their lacy covering. He was going over the edge. If he did, he was going to take her with him, and it would damage both of them. He had to stop it, now, while he could. "Is this what Colby gets when he comes to see you?" he whispered with deliberate sarcasm.
It worked. She stepped on his foot as hard as she could with her bare instep. It surprised him more than it hurt him, but while he recoiled, she pushed him and tore out of his arms. Her eyes were lividly green through her glasses, her hair in disarray. She glared at him like a female panther.
"What Colby gets is none of your business! You get out of my apartment!" she raged at him.
She was magnificent, he thought, watching her with helpless delight. There wasn't a man alive who could cow her, or bend her to his will. Even her drunken, brutal stepfather hadn't been able to force her to do something she didn't want to do ~ Diana Palmer

After I impulsively revealed that I have OCD on a talk show, I was devastated. I often do things without thinking. That's my ADD/ADHD talking. Out in public, after I did the show, people came to me and said, 'Me, too.' They were the most comforting words I've ever heard. ~ Howie Mandel

He knew he should be focusing on her, on comforting her, but he was drowning in her instead. ~ Airicka Phoenix

photos of everything befitting a mid- century table. This comforting, simple, homey-but-vibrant aesthetic became my ideal. It was ~ Meg Ray

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Teeth gnashing from a brutal feast
Wolfing down with others; consuming every bite
Eating every poison laid before my sight
I dined upon Iniquity's endless shelf
Blindly feeding, greedily…on myself

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Expiring with every taste of yeast
Belly puffed and sour with death
A haunting shutter with every breath
Full of nothing but vanity
Dipped in pleasure and tragedy

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
As the West is far from the East
I charted the lust of mine own eyes
Thus, in my folly…I was sure to die
My soul knew nothing of sacrifice
Instead I danced with every vice

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
You found me broken and utterly fleeced
Naked, abandoned and truly alone
You nurtured the wounds to which you sewn
You gave me bread, You sang me a song
And touched my wounds with a loving balm

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast
Yet, You taught me wisdom's leash
So I walk with you…dawn through night
Quenched by your fount of love and light
No darkness, no hate not a selfish bone
Can feed this fiend that You've atoned

Oh, I was, but a wounded Beast!
~Jason Neville Versey ~ Jason Versey

With my gaze on anything but Cade, I moved around the room but when Scout spotted me he trotted over. I knelt down and rubbed his ears. The silky fur between my fingers stirred memories.

Scout's tongue flicked under my chin. I leaned my head back and smiled.

"He kissed you," a little boy said. "That means he likes you."

"You think so?" I scrubbed my hands over Scout's neck.

"Yeah. Right, Cade? Dog kisses mean they like you."

I kept my eyes on Scout to avoid looking at Cade.

"Yep, means he likes her." He sat a few feet away and his words wrapped around me, his voice comforting.

Scout lifted his paw and placed it on my knee.

"What's that mean, Cade?" The little boy pointed to my leg.

"Hmm, maybe he doesn't want her to leave." I peeked over, and Cade met my gaze. "He likes her too much."

I looked away.

"Maybe he loves her," the little boy said in a singsong voice.

Without missing a beat Cade said, "Maybe he does."

The little boy broke into a fit of belly laughs, and Cade scooted closer. He poked him playfully in the side. "Hey, what's funny about that?"

"He's a dog. She's a girl."

"That's true," Cade whispered. "But a pretty one, so can you really blame him?"

The little boy giggled more. "That's silly."

Scout nudged me with his wet nose and I cupped his face. "It's okay, boy, the feeling is mutu ~ Renita Pizzitola

Our sparring sessions always end in fucking. Always. Rough, hard, glorious. I struggle at first, then submit every time, and it's like it's part of our sex play. I could refuse him, but the horrible truth is, I crave it. His mere presence, his heated glance, makes my sex damp with desire. The more violent our sparring, the more I want him. Pinned down on the floor, writhing underneath him, fighting to get away but really wanting it…just like the fantasies I used to shamefully entertain before I ever met him.
He resumes bathing me and shaving me in the morning. I let him cuff me to the tub without trying to fight, because I find it heightens the pleasure for me. And that ends in fucking too. That's sweeter and more tender. I get the best of both worlds from him - soft, gentle sex, and brutal, hard fucking. I have an amazing sex life. Several orgasms a day, and they're always mind-blowing, explosive, shattering.
If I wasn't his prisoner, he'd be the perfect lover ~ Ginger Talbot

The first question we needed to address in response to the popular "Take America Back for God" slogan concerned the precedent of Jesus, and in this light we must judge that the slogan can lead us into temptation. The second concerns the meaning of the slogan itself. I, for one, confess to being utterly mystified by the phrase. If we are to take America back for God, it must have once belonged to God, but it's not at all clear when this golden Christian age was.

Were these God-glorifying years before, during, or after Europeans "discovered" America and carried out the doctrine of "manifest destiny" - the belief that God (or, for some, nature) had destined white Christians to conquer the native inhabitants and steal their land? Were the God-glorifying years the ones in which whites massacred these natives by the millions, broke just about every covenant they ever made with them, and then forced survivors onto isolated reservations? Was the golden age before, during, or after white Christians loaded five to six million Africans on cargo ships to bring them to their newfound country, enslaving the three million or so who actually survived the brutal trip? Was it during the two centuries when Americans acquired remarkable wealth by the sweat and blood of their slaves? Was this the time when we were truly "one nation under God," the blessed time that so many evangelicals seem to want to take our nation back to?

Maybe someone would suggest that the golden age o ~ Gregory A. Boyd

Viewing the child solely as an immature person is a way of escaping comforting him. ~ Clark Moustakas

On thing he discovered with a great deal of astonishment was that music held more for him than just pleasure. There was meat to it. The grouping of sounds, their forms in the air as they rang out and faded, said something comforting to him about the rule of creation. What the music said was that there is a right way for things to be ordered so that life might not always be just tangle and drift but have a shape, an aim. It was a powerful argument against the notion that things just happen. ~ Charles Frazier

It struck me that Lee was in many ways our true hero. Lee was the one who did the dirtiest jobs, quietly, without fuss, without going into big emotional scenes. He was so efficient, so reliable, so brave. Whenever we fell short, he made up the gap. I'm not just talking about the red hot moments, when enemy soldiers were shooting at us, when we were within a moment of death. I'm talking about the sourer times too, when we were so tired we could hardly remember to breathe, or we were so bored we'd pick at each other just for something to do, or so distressed we'd wish a soldier would come along and blow us into oblivion with an M16. At all those times Lee stood strong. He was like the Wirrawee grain silo. You could see the grain silo from miles away, tall and reliable. It stood for Wirrawee, and it gave you a safe comforting feeling to know it was there. That was how I'd felt about Lee during the war. ~ John Marsden

When I'm singing 'Deanna,' for example, which I sing pretty much every night, it brings forward a kind of imagined, romanticized lie about this particular person, which I find really comforting and exciting to sing about. ~ Nick Cave

Divorce is brutal and horrible and ... you have to actively work to get your life back on track. ~ Jane Kaczmarek

It occurred that the birds, whose twitters and repeated songs sounded so pretty and affirming of nature and the coming day, might actually, in a code known only to other birds, be the birds each saying 'Get away' or 'This branch is mine!' or 'This tree is mine! I'll kill you! Kill, kill!' Or any manner of dark, brutal, or self-protective stuff
they might be listening to war cries. The thought came from nowhere and made his spirits dip from some reason. ~ David Foster Wallace

We feel that, for the honour of God (and also, though we do not say this, for the sake of our own reputation as spiritual Christians), it is necessary for us to claim that we are, so to speak, already in the signal-box, here and now enjoying the inside information as to the why and wherefore of God's doings. This comforting pretence becomes part of us: we feel sure that God has enabled us to understand all His ways with us and our circle thus far, and we take if for granted that we shall be able to see at once the reason for anything that may happen to us in the future. And then something very painful and quite inexplicable comes along, and our cheerful illusion of being in God's secret councils is shattered. Our pride is wounded; we feel that God has slighted us; and unless at this point we repent, and humble ourselves very thoroughly for our former presumption, our whole subsequent spriritual life may be blighted. ~ J.I. Packer

Laila Lalami has fashioned an absorbing story of one of the first encounters between Spanish conquistadores and Native Americans, a frightening, brutal, and much-falsified history that here, in her brilliantly imagined fiction, is rewritten to give us something that feels very like the truth. ~ Salman Rushdie

Wenner began a campaign to get his parents back together. Sim told her son she wanted him to call only every other week to reduce her phone bills. "Your demand that Dad and I be something to each other that we're not, is basically a child's demand," she wrote to him in 1959, when Wenner was thirteen. "One stamps one's foot and says, 'Change the world and I will be all right!' and it's a nice comforting thought to have, but the world can't be changed, families can't be changed, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers…There is only one thing that can be changed, or rather, only one thing that you can change, and that is yourself." ("Maternally yours," she signed the letter.) ~ Joe Hagan

Intellectuals ... advertise their superiority to political practice but are absolutely in its thrall ... It is no accident that Marxist theory and practice use the intellectuals as tools and keep them in brutal subservience. ~ Allan Bloom

You have not thought things through, he said. By his standards it was a brutal insult. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

The search for God is a reversal of the normal, mundane worldly order. In the search for God, you revert from what attracts you and swim toward that which is difficult. You are abandoning your comforting and familiar habits with the hope (the mere hope!) that something greater will be offered you in return for what you have given up. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert

Street Ballad

From high above the birds look down and sing because
they see
the monstrous comedies they miss, living several storeys
higher:
the dirty degradations and the gross humiliations,
they, like the gods, without pity, look down upon from a
telephone wire.

but as they sit there high above and gaze down upon our
brutal
short and messy circumstances, they do not see the one
who stands behind a cardboard tree examining them
coldly
with one eye closed and the other staring along the barrel
of a gun. ~ George Barker

He wondered if he would live to see the blossom on his apple trees and felt an answering pop inside himself. Ah, so it would not be long now. It began to snow lightly, the last flakes to fall before the spring. He put on his wedding finery, the clothes he had worn so long ago when he married his beloved Pamposh, and which he had kept all this time wrapped in tissue paper in a trunk. As a bridegroom he went outdoors and the snowflakes caressed his grizzled cheeks. His mind was alert, he was ambulatory and nobody was waiting for him with a club. He had his body and his mind and it seemed he was to be spared a brutal end. That at least was kind. He went into his apple orchard, seated himself cross-legged beneath a tree, closed his eyes, heard the verses of the Rig-Veda fill the world with beauty and ceased upon the midnight with no pain. ~ Salman Rushdie

Jake Roberts has a hard enough time being Jake Roberts. The truth is a brutal thing, I just hope that the kids take the time to learn about each of the wrestlers in the game, and if the kids can learn from our mistakes, that would make me a happy man. ~ Jake Roberts

No sin, no matter how momentarily pleasurable, comforting, or habitual, is worth missing what God has for us. ~ Beth Moore

From the pleasure podium of Ali Qapu, beyond the enhanced enclosure, the city spread itself towards the horizon. Ugly buildings are prohibited in Esfahan. They go to Tehran or stay in Mashhad. Planters vie with planners to outnumber buildings with trees. Attracting nightingales, blackbirds and orioles is considered as important as attracting people. Maples line the canals, reaching towards each other with branches linked. Beneath them, people meander, stroll and promenade. The Safavids' high standards generated a kind of architectural pole-vaulting competition in which beauty is the bar, and ever since the Persians have been imbuing the most mundane objects with design. Turquoise tiles ennoble even power stations.
In the meadow in the middle of Naghshe Jahan, as lovers strolled or rode in horse-drawn traps, I lay on my back picking four-leafed clovers and looking at the sky. There was an intimacy about its grandeur, like having someone famous in your family. The life of centuries past was more alive here than anywhere else, its physical dimensions unchanged. Even the brutal mountains, folded in light and shadows beyond the square, stood back in awe of it. At three o'clock, the tiled domes soaked up the sunshine, transforming its invisible colours to their own hue, and the gushing fountains ventilated the breeze and passed it on to grateful Esfahanis. But above all was the soaring sky, captured by this snare of arches.(p378) ~ Christopher Kremmer

It must be, I thought, one of the race's most persistent and comforting hallucinations to trust that "it can't happen here"
that one's own time and place is beyond cataclysm. ~ John Wyndham

An old villa surrounded by a garden looked to them like the image of a comforting home, the dream of an idyll long past. ~ Milan Kundera

The blues is an impulse to keep the painful details and episodes of a brutal experience alive in one's aching consciousness, to finger its jagged grain, and to transcend it, not by the consolation of philosophy but by squeezing from it a near-tragic, near-comic lyricism. As a form, the blues is an autobiographical chronicle of personal catastrophe expressed lyrically. ~ Ralph Ellison

Now he haunts me seldom: some fierce umbilical is broken,
I live with my own fragile hopes and sudden rising despair.
Now I do not weep for my sins; I have learned to love them
And to know that they are the wounds that make love real.
His face illudes me; his voice, with its pity, does not ring in my ear.
His maxims memorized in boyhood do not make fruitless and pointless my experience.
I walk alone, but not so terrified as when he held my hand.
I do not splash in the blood of his son
nor hear the crunch of nails or thorns piercing protesting flesh.
I am a boy again
I whose boyhood was turned to manhood in a brutal myth.
Now wine is only wine with drops that do not taste of blood.
The bread I eat has too much pride for transubstantiation,
I, too
and together the bread and I embrace,
Each grateful to be what we are, each loving from our own reality. ~ James Kavanaugh

How are you going to protect me?? do you even know what it means to protect someone?? you think giving a crying person icecream is a way of comforting or protecting them?!?! you don't even know anything! you don't know how to love someone, you don't know how to show love, and you don't know what it means to protect someone. you hurt people without realizing it ~ Ji-Eun Song

I can remember being eight years old and having infinite possibilities. But life ends up being so much less that we thought it would be when we were kids, with relationships that are so empty and stupid and brutal. If you don't find a way to break the chain and change in some way, then you wind up, as the rhyme goes: a murder of one, for sorrow. ~ Adam Duritz

Young Bindo Altovini, looking out from time, made a perfect coalition with the mountains, the sky, and the tall redheaded woman who had bent over just slightly to examine a raging battle that was long over. Alessandro imagined that Bindo Altovini was saying, half with longing, half with delight, "These are the things in which I was so helplessly caught up, the waves that took me, what I loved. When light filled my eyes and I was restless and could move, I knew not what all the color was about, but only that I had a passion to see. And now that I am still, I pass on to you my liveliness and my life, for you will be taken, as once I was, and although you must fight beyond your capacity to fight and feel beyond your capacity to feel, remember that it ends in perfect peace, and you will be as still and content as am I, for whom centuries are not even seconds."

In the eyes of Bindo Altoviti, Alessandro saw wisdom and amusement, and he knew why the subjects of paintings and photographs seemed to look from the past as if with clairvoyance. Even brutal and impatient men, when frozen in time, assumed expressions of extraordinary compassion, as if they had reflected the essence of their redemption back into the photograph. In a sense they were still living. ~ Mark Helprin

I think the brutality is important to convey as part of the story, to see how brutal it is to have these kids in battle with one another. ~ Josh Hutcherson

Death is an asshole. Regardless of illness or circumstance or gut feelings, you are never ready to accept never seeing someone again, to have nothing left but last conversations and memories. You are never ready to be left with how sick somebody looked, or the way they stood up and hugged you despite how dizzy and feverish they were. You are never ready to exist without a person you loved and still need. Death is a constant, but you are never ready…

But while it's scary and awful and exhausting and terrible, it's also comforting to have accepted that death will always be there and will always rip out your heart. It doesn't get easy, and it will find surprising new ways of debilitating you. But what does get simpler is your awareness of it – the reminder that you have gotten through it before, and you will get through it again, and it will never, ever be as bad as it is in the moment you are battling through. It will never hurt the way it did when you found out, and the ache will never be as painful as when you realize those were your last words to them. It won't be as painful forever…

So, no, we can't control death. But we can control how we breathe, how we act, the type of work we do. We can control what we say yes or no to, control who we choose to surround ourselves with, control the way we make the people we love feel. We can decide to be kind, to try our best, and to be honest. Those are the things that outlive us. When we're faced with the harshnes ~ Anne T. Donahue

Rituals are comforting; rituals combat loneliness. ~ John Irving

Cut off as I am, it is inevitable that I should sometimes feel like a shadow walking in a shadowy world. When this happens I ask to be taken to New York City. Always I return home weary but I have the comforting certainty that mankind is real flesh and I myself am not a dream. ~ Helen Keller