Peace Quotes

Peace in these words feels like the stillness after a storm—sometimes fragile, sometimes unshakable, always worth the quiet to find it. It lingers in the spaces between breath and thought, where the weight of the world grows lighter.

8,091 QUOTES — PAGE 3 OF 405

“What is…” She flipped through a few pages, looked up into his eyes. “Is this…?” “My journal,” he said, reaching out to glide a knuckle down her cheek. Her skin was so damn soft. She was a contradiction in terms to him, and one that he found endlessly fascinating: a woman with the inner strength to rival any Spec Ops member he’d ever known, yet she had such a kind, soft heart beneath that hard-won armor. Resilient. Independent yet willing to compromise. Formidable in her confidence and strength of will, yet gentle and loving. He loved her so hard it hurt. “I bought it the night after you stayed at my place,” he continued. “I knew if I was going to have a real shot with you going forward then I needed to get my shit together once and for all. You said the writing thing really helped you so I called my counselor and talked to her about it. She thought it would be good for me too. So I wrote in it every day since. I’ve been working hard at it.” Taya leafed through the pages until she came to the end and looked back up into his eyes. “It’s full.” “Yeah. Guess I had a lot to say.” The tenderness in her eyes slayed him. “Nathan, I’m so proud of you.” Her pride in him made him feel twenty feet tall. He let out a relieved breath. “I want to read it to you. That’s my next step, if you’re okay with it.” “Of course it’s okay. I’d love for you to read it to me, as long as you feel comfortable doing it.” “That’s the thing, I am. And I wouldn’t be with anyone else except you. You make me feel…whole.” He didn’t know how else to say it, how else to explain himself, except he needed her to know he was trying like hell to deal with his issues. “I know I’ve got a long way to go before I get to the same place you’re at, but I’m willing to put in the work to get there. I feel safe with you and I’m ready to move forward, let go of all the stuff that happened before. Like you said, I’m doing it for me. I’m sick of my past having any kind of hold over me. So I’m going to do whatever it takes to make peace with it.” Her answering smile lit up her whole face, made her gray eyes sparkle like gems. “Then I’ll gladly listen to whatever you want to say.” Warmth kindled in his chest. She did that; warmed him from the inside out, just by being her. “Good, because I love you.” She froze, her eyes widening slightly. He nodded, laughed at her shocked expression. “Yep, I love you. That’s what I came here to say. I love you and I’m a better man because of it, but not as good a man as I’ll be down the road if you stand by me.” Her eyes filled with tears and she flung her arms around him. “I love you too,” she blurted out against his neck. “So, so much. And of course I’ll stand by you.” Nate felt like his heart might burst. He hugged her hard. “Would you move to Virginia with me? When your dad’s strong enough. I know you need to be here for a while longer, but after that, I want you in my bed every night so I can wake up beside you each morning.” She gave a soggy laugh, her face still buried in his neck. “There you go again with the romance.” “Oh, baby, have I got plans for you.” He stroked a hand over her back, fascinated by the combination of softness and strength that was uniquely her. Then his stomach rumbled, making her smile. He was starving, hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any bacon in the house, would you? Because I’d kill for a BLT right now.”

Kaylea Cross

“And you can glance out the window for a moment, distracted by the sound of small kids playing a made-up game in a neighbor's yard, some kind of kickball maybe, and they speak in your voice, or piggyback races on the weedy lawn, and it's your voice you hear, essentially, under the glimmerglass sky, and you look at the things in the room, offscreen, unwebbed, the tissued grain of the deskwood alive in light, the thick lived tenor of things, the argument of things to be seen and eaten, the apple core going sepia in the lunch tray, and the dense measures of experience in a random glance, the monk's candle reflected in the slope of the phone, hours marked in Roman numerals, and the glaze of the wax, and the curl of the braided wick, and the chipped rim of the mug that holds your yellow pencils, skewed all crazy, and the plied lives of the simplest surface, the slabbed butter melting on the crumbled bun, and the yellow of the yellow of the pencils, and you try to imagine the word on the screen becoming a thing in the world, taking all its meanings, its sense of serenities and contentments out into the streets somehow, its whisper of reconciliation, a word extending itself ever outward, the tone of agreement or treaty, the tone of repose, the sense of mollifying silence, the tone of hail and farewell, a word that carries the sunlit ardor of an object deep in drenching noon, the argument of binding touch, but it's only a sequence of pulses on a dullish screen and all it can do is make you pensive--a word that spreads a longing through the raw sprawl of the city and out across the dreaming bournes and orchards to the solitary hills.Peace.”

Don DeLillo