Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.
Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo.
Friendship is the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words.
Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand.
The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing...that is a friend who cares.
Friends share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand.
The friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you.
Keep what is worth keeping and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.
In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.
Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
The language of friendship is not words but meanings.
The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend.
We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.
Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor to measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together.
One friend with whom you have a lot in common is better than three with whom you struggle to find things to talk about.
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
or simply:
