A Quote by Pierre Corneille

One often calms one's grief by recounting it. — © Pierre Corneille
One often calms one's grief by recounting it.
In recounting our woes, we often soothe them.
Recounting their histories, people often sound like interested bystanders to their own lives.
Pride dries the tears of anger and vexation; humility, those of grief. The one is indignant that we should suffer; the other calms us by the reminder that we deserve nothing else.
I had to listen to the classical music because it calms me down, calms my nerves down.
Sometimes God calms the storm and sometimes He calms his child.
I don't think grief of grief in a medical way at all. I think that I and many of my colleagues, are very concerned when grief becomes pathological, that there is no question that grief can trigger depression in vulnerable people and there is no question that depression can make grief worse.
After the fighting is done, and even when it's still happening, apologies are often needed for the recounting of bare facts. Sometimes bare facts feel unpatriotic.
Sometimes the Lord rides out the storm with us and other times He calms the restless sea around us. Most of all, He calms the storm inside us in our deepest inner soul.
We have little bags we pack specifically for touch-up makeup if you're chosen for the top 16. I knew I had to sneak in my banana because nothing calms my nerves like it! I don't know if it's the potassium, but I need it before I get on stage because it always calms me down.
As a community organizer who holds a degree in history, I understand the fascination with history. However, there is a tendency for many of us to get engrossed in the recounting of our history, which often amounts to purely intellectual activity without material action.
Sometimes God calms the storm. Sometimes He lets the storm rage and He calms you
I often think that eventually I'd love to do some papers... my correspondence if life calms down a bit, but I think I'd do history or English literature... I've had enough of journos.
Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.
A brave action is often followed by grief. Do not let my resistance to grief stop the brave action.
When I hit a block, regardless of what I am writing, what the subject matter is, or what's going on in the plot, I go back and I read Pablo Neruda's poetry. I don't actually speak Spanish, so I read it translation. But I always go back to Neruda. I don't know why, but it calms me, calms my brain.
We collected in a group in front of their door, and we experienced within ourselves a grief that was new for us, the ancient grief of the people that has no land, the grief without hope of the exodus which is renewed in every century.
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