We were united not only by political respect for each other, but also by deep mutual sympathy as people.
One man pins me to the wall, while with another I walk among the stars
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.
Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
You are 27 or 28 right? It is very tough to live at that age. When nothing is sure. I have sympathy with you.
I am compassionate. I allow my heart and imagination to embrace the difficulties and concerns of others. While maintaining my own balance, I find it within myself to extend sympathy, attention, and support. When they are grieved, I listen with openness and gentle strength. I offer loyalty, friendship, and human understanding. Without undermining or enabling, I aid and assist others to find their strength. I allow the healing power of the Universe to flow through me, soothing the hearts and feelings of those I encounter.
Not being untutored in suffering, I learn to pity those in affliction
Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
Those who show pity and are always ready to help during times of trouble are seldom the same ones who rejoice in our joy: when others are happy they have nothing to do, they become superfluous and lose their feeling of superiority, and so they easily show their displeasure.
In one era the majority puts its faith and sympathy with the bullfighter, in another with the bull.
Wherever you are you will always be in my heart.
Despite all their fears, we ask very little of the ones who never loved us. We do not ask for sympathy or pain or compassion. We simply want to know why.
To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable.
A funeral is for those left behind. Sometimes, one wonders if the weeping is more out of fear for ourselves than it is sympathy for the deceased.
We can not imaging the pain, You must all be feeling At the loss of Your loving son But just to let you know You are in our thoughts, At this very sad time.
For the dead there are no more toils.
Far better one unpurchased heart than glory's proudest name.
I believe that what so saddens the reformer is not his sympathy with his fellows in distress, but, though he be the holiest son of God, is his private ail. Let this be righted, let the spring come to him, the morning rise over his couch, and he will forsake his generous companions without apology.
Nothing you love is lost. Not really. Things, people—they always go away, sooner or later. You can’t hold them, any more than you can hold moonlight. But if they’ve touched you, if they’re inside you, then they’re still yours. The only things you ever really have are the ones you hold inside your heart.
Death cannot kill what never dies.