Quotes & Sayings About Caring About Him

He'd thought he was over caring what people thought about him. He'd thought that loving Eleanor proved that. But he kept finding new pockets of shallow inside himself. — Rainbow Rowell

She frowned. "I don't understand"
"You can't love me. No one does" The sincerity in his voice and expression was heart-wrenching. He truly couldn't fathom anyone caring about him. Not even her. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

I flopped on the overstuffed kitchen couch and watched him go. I wondered what would happen to all his films and photographs in the upstairs closet - the documentaries on homelessness and drug addiction, the funny short subjects, the half-finished romantic comedy, the boxes of slice-of-life photographs that spoke volumes about the human condition. I wondered how you stop caring about what you've ached over, sweated over. (Thwonk) — Joan Bauer

Love is an afternoon of fishing when I'd sooner be at the ballet.
Love is eating burnt toast and lumpy graving with a big smile.
Love is hearing the words 'You're beautiful' as I fail to squeeze into my fat jeans.
Love is refusing to bring up the past, even if doing so would be a slam dunk to prove your point.
Love is your hand wiping away my tears, trying to erase streaks of mascara.
Love is the warm hug that extinguishes an argument.
Love is a humbly-uttered apology, even if not at fault.
Love is easy to recognize but so hard to define; however, I think it boils down to this ...
Love is caring so much about the feelings of someone else, you sacrifice whatever it takes to help him or her feel better.
In other words, love is my heart being sensitive to yours. — Richelle E. Goodrich

Blind luck, to arrive in the world with your properly formed parts in the right place, to be born to parents who were loving, not cruel, or to escape, by geographical or social accident, war or poverty. And therefore to find it so much easier to be virtuous. For a while, the case had left her numb, caring less, feeling less, going about her business, telling no one. But she became squeamish about bodies, barely able to look at her own or Jack's without feeling repelled. How was she to talk about this? Hardly plausible, to have told him that at this stage of a legal career, this one case among so many others, its sadness, its visceral — Ian McEwan

She turned around and said, "Is there anything I can do?"
It was the only thing she could have said that he couldn't answer with anger, which frustrated Janner even more. If she had asked what was wrong, he would have hurled a perfectly sassy reply right back at her. If she had told him to cheer up, he would have grouched something about how cheery he'd be if he had played with puppies all day. If she had tried to be silly to cheer him up, he would have barked that he was sorry he wasn't in the mood for games.
But "Is there anything I can do?" poured cool water on his fire. It told him that she cared. It told him that she saw he needed something, even if she didn't know what. It told him that she hurt with him. — Andrew Peterson

When I finally calmed down, I handed her the Ewok. "Can you go back and give it to him" I said. "Oh, honey," she answered. "That's so sweet of you. But Isabel can clean the Lego set. It'll be good as new for Auggie, don't worry." "No, for the other kid," I answered. She looked at me a second, like she didn't know what to say. "Via said he doesn't speak any English," I sai. "It must be really scary for him, being in the hospital." She nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered. "It must be." She closed her eyes and hugged me again. And then she took me over to the security desk, where I waited until she went back up the elevator and, after about five minutes, came back down again. "Did he like it?" I asked. "Honeyboy," she said softly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "You made his day. — R.J. Palacio

I thought about him everyday until then. I started having these conversations with him in my head that you have when you meet someone you sense is going to be important in your life. — Deb Caletti

Mental illness doesn't cause abusiveness any more than alcohol does. What happens is rather that the man's psychiatric problem interacts with his abusiveness to form a volatile combination. If he is severely depressed, for example, he may stop caring about the consequences his actions may cause him to suffer, which can increase the danger that he will decide to commit a serious attack against his partner or children. A mentally ill abuser has two separate - though interrelated - problems, just as the alcoholic or drug-addicted one does. — Lundy Bancroft

The prideful man qualifies himself by what people think of him, always looking for applause. There is another proud man; head bloodied by the world but eyes focused on what is good, never caring about spectators or the cost. He is proud that his wife can laugh, that his children can play, humbled by their love for him. His prayers say, "Please make me worthy of them" - In humility lies the foundation of strength. — Lee Goff

Do you know someone who needs hours alone every day? Who loves quiet conversations about feelings or ideas, and can give a dynamite presentation to a big audience, but seems awkward in groups and maladroit at small talk? Who has to be dragged to parties and then needs the rest of the day to recuperate? Who growls or scowls or grunts or winces when accosted with pleasantries by people who are just trying to be nice?
If so, do you tell this person he is "too serious," or ask if he is okay? Regard him as aloof, arrogant, rude? Redouble your efforts to draw him out?
If you answered yes to these questions, chances are that you have an introvert on your hands - and that you aren't caring for him properly. — Jon Rauch

The choices a writer makes within a tradition - preferring Milton to Moliere, caring for Barth over Barthelme - constitute some of the most personal information we can have about him. — Zadie Smith

She was pleased her husband still thought her attractive, despite her beached-whale state, but was finding it increasingly awkward to accommodate him. The spirit was willing but the flesh was swollen. Still, she enjoyed the compliment and understood that there was no real demand behind the caresses. The earl knew her well enough to realize she valued his desire almost as much as his love. After a lifetime of feeling ugly and unworthy, Alexia was now tolerably assured that Conall genuinely did want her, even if they could do nothing about it at present. She also understood that he was expressing his conjugal interest partly out of knowledge of her own need for such assurances. A werewolf and a buffoon, her husband, but wonderfully caring once he'd blundered into the way of it. — Gail Carriger

He thought of the jungle, already regrowing around him to cover the scars they had created. He thought of the tiger, killing to eat. Was that evil? And ants? They killed. No, the jungle wasn't evil. It was indifferent. So, too, was the world. Evil, then, must be the negation of something man had added to the world. Ultimately, it was caring about something that made the world liable to evil. Caring. And then the caring gets torn asunder. Everybody dies, but not everybody cares. — Karl Marlantes

[On writing more Sherlock Holmes stories.] 'I don't care whether you do or not,' said Bram. 'But you will, eventually. He's yours, till death do you part. Did you really think he was dead and gone when you wrote "The Final Problem"? I don't think you did. I think you always knew he'd be back. But whenever you take up your pen and continue, heed my advice. Don't bring him here. Don't bring Sherlock Holmes into the electric light. Leave him in the mysterious and romantic flicker of the gas lamp. He won't stand next to this, do you see? The glare would melt him away. He was more the man of our time than Oscar was. Or than we were. Leave him where he belongs, in the last days of our bygone century. Because in a hundred years, no one will care about me. Or you. Or Oscar. We stopped caring about Oscar years ago, and we were his bloody *friends.* No, what they'll remember are the stories. They'll remember Holmes. And Watson. And Dorian Gray. — Graham Moore

Practically every mental health care practitioner, from the most erudite psychoanalysts to untrained self-help gurus, tell us that it is infinitely more fulfilling and we are all saner if we tell the truth, yet most of us are not rushing to stand up and be counted among the truth tellers. Indeed, as someone committed to being honest in daily life I experience the constant drag of being seen as a 'freak,' for telling the truth, even when I speak truthfully about simple matters. If a friend gives me a gift and asks me to tell him or her whether I like it, I will respond honestly and judiciously; that is to say I will speak the truth in a positive, caring manner. Yet even in this situation, the person who asks for honesty will often express annoyance when given a truthful response. — Bell Hooks

The meek man is not a human mouse afflicted with a sense of his own inferiority. Rather he may be in his moral life as bold as a lion and as strong as Samson; but he has stopped being fooled about himself. He has accepted God's estimate of his own life. He knows he is as weak and helpless as God has declared him to be, but paradoxically, he knows at the same time that he is in the sight of God of more importance than angels. In himself, nothing; in God, everything. That is his motto. He knows well that the world will never see him as God sees him and he has stopped caring. He rests perfectly content to allow God to place His own values. — A.W. Tozer

She touched his cheek. "I wondered what love felt like," she said. "Now I know." He crushed her to his chest again. There was no pretense with her. He kissed her again, not caring to hold back the depth of his love. His breathing was ragged when he raised his head. "Oh Addie, Addie, what did I do before you came into my life?" Tears shone on her lashes. "I don't think I lived before tonight." "We must be married. Quite soon, darling girl. I can't wait for long." "I'd marry you tonight," she said. "Right now." He traced the curve of her cheek with his finger. "I'll ask your father for your hand tonight." A shadow darkened the joy in her eyes. "What about Lord Carrington?" "What about him?" "Father seems quite set on a match with him." She wet her lips. "I've been thinking about what you said. That God might be disciplining him. You might be right. — Colleen Coble

Praying to God involves both us and God. God wants us to participate in what he is doing, and for sure one of the main ways we participate in what he is doing is by prayer. We can also participate in what he is doing by feeding the hungry and helping the poor and caring for the sick and giving of our resources to those who have little. God wants us to partner with him. So there is a paradox at work, and a mystery. On the one hand, the Bible says that apart from God we can do nothing. And yet, on the other hand, God invites us to do some things with him. This is at the heart of the mystery of prayer. God wants us to use our faith and to pray. But we can focus so much on the importance of our faith and our prayers that we forget about God and think it is our faith and our prayers that perform the miracle, rather than the God to whom we pray and in whom we have faith as we pray. — Eric Metaxas

I once knew of a girl whose story forms the substance of the diary. Whether he has seduced others I do not know ... we learn of his desire for something altogether arbitrary. With the help of his mental gifts he knew how to tempt a girl to draw her to him without caring to possess her in any stricter sense.
I can imagine him able to bring a girl to the point where he was sure she would sacrifice all then he would leave without a word let a lone a declaration a promise.
The unhappy girl would retain the consciousness of it with double bitterness because there was not the slightest thing she could appeal to. She could only be constantly tossed about in a terrible witches' dance at one moment reproaching herself forgiving him at another reproaching him and then since the relationship would only have been actual in a figurative sense she would constantly have to contend with the doubt that the whole thing might only have been an imagination. — Soren Kierkegaard

He kisses me and for that kiss, for that moment, I forget how worried I am. It comes back, of course, but with Caleb, I feel more whole - I am more whole - than I have been since Mom died.
I love him.
I love him because of who he is, who he really is past what everyone else sees; the lost boy, the druggie, the car thief. I love him because he is strong and caring. I love him because he broke and put himself back together again. I love him because he is beautiful inside and out.
I love him for being here with me. I love him for not telling me that everything will be all right. I love him because he knows what life is like, what it can do, and is always honest about it. — Elizabeth Scott

Dylan Jerome," the lawyer admits, "wanted to sue God for not caring enough about him. — Jodi Picoult

Her gaze slid up the thick muscles of his arm, imagining her hand doing the same, imagining what it would feel like to explore a body of such raw, masculine energy. No doubt about it, he was man built for battle. Yet she could seein his sharp, dark eyes, and in the glimpses of humor and caring he'd let slip, that there was so much more to him than the fight. — Melissa Cutler

He went through the old motions of his life, taking care of what needed caring for, keeping mostly quiet about what was on his mind. But his hard waiting changed him; you could see it in his face. — Wendell Berry

Any kind of horror video game where I'm the first-person player and I'm ... I suddenly stop caring about the video game dude, and I'm like, I really don't want him to die,' and then the minute he dies, it upsets me. I can't play those games. — Kit Harington

What we do is inherently self-centered and sort of narcissistic. It's hard to really be thinking about myself all of the time when I have a dog who needs me to be caring for him twenty-four seven. — Bitsie Tulloch

See, you do care about him! Sarah, what Nolan Walker needs is a good wife to encourage him, to see that he eats properly, make sure he gets his rest." The picture Prissy had painted of Sarah as devoted wife, caring for Nolan, was a very appealing one. But she couldn't dwell on it, because Prissy wasn't done. "When are you going to get off your lofty perch and let yourself love him?" she went on. "That excuse that he's a Yankee's wearing a little thin by now, don't you think?" Sarah stared at her as they had reached their little cottage and went in. She hung up her coat with a sigh, then took Prissy's coat and hung it up, too. "Dr. Walker and I have become friends. But how can he and I be anything more if he's not a believer? The Bible warns about being unequally yoked, you know." Prissy groaned exasperatedly. "Sarah Matthews, if you gave that man the slightest bit of encouragement, he'd be sitting in the front pew every Sunday morning, and you know it. — Laurie Kingery

You know that half the girls in school would have been after you."
He gave a soft laugh. "If they were into someone who was flunking out ... I don't think I'd do too well with having to go to class when a bell rings or caring about homework ... "
"A bad boy
even better. You'd have done well in Spanish class."
"If I ever went to it."
We lay in silence for a awhile; Alex's arms felt so warm and safe that I was starting to get sleepy. "Say something in Spanish," I mumbled.
He kissed my hair. "Te amo, Willow," he said quietly.
I came awake, smiling into the darkness. "What does that mean?" I whispered.
I could almost hear his own smile. "What do you think it means?"
I hugged him, kissing his collarbone and wondering if it was possible to actually die of happiness. "Te amo, Alex. — L.A. Weatherly

Caring about him was like trying to love a tree stump - a cold, mean-spirited paternalistic tree stump. With fungus. — Cecily White

He knew what it was then that Liz had given him; the thing that he would have to go back and find if ever he got home to England: it was the caring about little things - the faith in ordinary life; the simplicity that made you break up a bit of bread into a paper bag, walk down to the beach, and throw it to the gulls. It was this respect for triviality which he had never been allowed to possess; whether it was bread for the seagulls or love, whatever it was he would go back and find it; he would make Liz find it for him. — John Le Carre

Since Monday, it has been raining buoyant summer rain shot through with sun, but dark at night and full of sound, full of dripping leaves, watery chimings, sleepless scuttlings. Billy Bob is wide-awake, dry-eyed, though everything he does is a little frozen and his tongue is as stiff as a bell tongue. It has not been easy for him, Miss Bobbit's going. Because she'd meant more than that. Than what? Than being thirteen years old and crazy in love. She was the queer things in him, like the pecan tree and liking books and caring enough about people to let them hurt him. She was the things he was afraid to show anyone else. And in the dark the music trickled through the rain: won't there be nights when we will hear it just as though it were really there? And afternoons when the shadows will be all at once confused, and she will pass before us, unfurling across the lawn like a pretty piece of ribbon? — Truman Capote

Recently he has noticed idiocy creeping up on him. His resolve to keep his head on straight, his feet on the ground, is failing and he has observed, quite objectively, that he is becoming more thoughtless, selfish, making more and more stupid remarks. He has tried to do something about this but it almost feels out of his control now, like pattern baldness. Why not just give in and be an idiot? Stop caring. — David Nicholls

I want to know now," I whine, not caring that I sound like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum.

"How about this? We'll Rock, Paper, Scissors for it."

Yeah, we're going to make great parents, all right.

"Fine." I crack my knuckles, which makes him snicker. "Ready?"

"Ready."

We count in unison. On three, we reveal our hands. He did paper. I did rock.

"I win," he says smugly.

"Sorry, baby, but you lose."

"Paper covers rock!"

I smirk. "Rock weighs down the paper so it can't fly away. It traps it."

A loud sigh fills the room. "I'm not going to win on this, am I?"

"Nope." But he looks so cute right now that I offer a compromise. "How about this? You can leave the room while the doctor tells me, and I swear I won't give it away. I'll hide all my baby purchases in my closet so you can't see what I'm buying."

"Deal — Elle Kennedy

You were just a beautiful woman. Now you're my beautiful woman. What you got under your clothes is for me. No one else. They don't look. They don't touch. That's the deal. Yeah?"
I stared at him, speechless, which was a good thing because if I had words, I would have said them so loudly the neighbors would hear.
"Now," he went on, either not feeling or not caring about the badder than bad vibes emanating from me directly toward him, "go put on a tank."
That's when I found my words.
"Maybe I should go put on my ragged white dress and stone necklace and you can put on your leopard skin tunic and we can pedal in our stone car to the roadhouse before you go bowling with Barney and I go shopping with Betty, Fred. — Kristen Ashley

When I reached the street I didn't know whether to go right or left. Soon I'd have to start acting like a person who cared about what happened to him. — Denis Johnson

Caring about him meant he had real power over her. That he held sway over her heart. — Renee Ahdieh

He knew then what it was that Liz had given him; the thing that he would have to go back and find if ever he got home to England; it was the caring about little things - the faith in ordinary life; the simplicity that made you break up a bit of bread into a paper bag, walk down to the beach and throw it to the gulls. It was this respect for triviality which he had never been allowed to possess; whether it was bread of the seagulls or love — John Le Carre

I'm so proud of you, Douggie," Sierra says, throwing herself on him. They start making out immediately, not caring who's watching or about Fairfield's PDA policy.
"I love you," Doug says when they come up for air.
"I love you, too," Sierra coos in a baby voice.
"Get a room," another classmate calls out. — Simone Elkeles

One of his hands caught her knee from beneath, urging her leg higher against his, and he pushed strongly within her.
She shuddered, her body locked to him, and then a languorous warmth suffused her as she relaxed to his rhythm. Their clothes rustled together, crushed masses of silk and broadcloth and velvet, separating them everywhere except in the wet, naked heat of their loins. She leaned against the door, her body rising from each upward drive. She was utterly possessed by him, no longer caring about the risk they were taking, conscious only of the ecstasy of his flesh joined to hers. Muttering fiercely into the curve of her neck, he thrust faster, creating silken friction that finally drove her into a scalding orgasm. — Lisa Kleypas

I knew the man up until our divorce - after that I didn't know the man, but it didn't stop me caring about him and worrying because of the complete change that I saw in him. He'd lost his sense of humour and he got aggressive; he wasn't for the world any more, he was just for Yoko. Before that he opened his arms and embraced the world with his wit and humour - afterwards he was a completely different kind of person. — Cynthia Lennon

As a child, he had hardened his heart and learned to take their punches. He had learned to spit back and take down anyone who cast a jaundiced eye or who made a comment about either him, his mother, or his sister.
He'd told himself that he didn't need anyone's love or caring. And so he had learned to live like a feral animal, always ready to strike out when someone tried to touch him. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

He had never admitted he had a problem, and maybe if he had she would have stayed longer or tried harder. As it was, she simply felt free now. Being with him had been a long, slow suffocation. Caring for someone who didn't care one bit about changing was like being frayed thin. He hadn't wanted what she had to give. She wasn't really sure what it would be like to — Lauren Blakely

Empowered Women 101: A confident and faithful woman that loves herself and knows what she is capable of creating will attract the right man that will want to be part of that plan. God won't bring her a man that she has to mold into what she wants him to be. A relationship is about two people helping one another grow, not just one. — Shannon L. Alder

What I liked about Mulder was his quality of not caring what other people thought of him. He was very independent. He wasn't interested in women. I liked that. He had kind of an intellectual quest, but not a sexual quest. That was the challenge of Mulder. Here was a guy that got almost sexually excited about aliens. And I wanted to be able to do that! — David Duchovny

He has a very nice face and style, really," said Mrs. Kenwigs.
"He certainly has," added Miss Petowker. "There's something in his appearance quite
dear, dear, what's the word again?"
"What word?" inquired Mr. Lillyvick.
"Why
dear me, how stupid I am!" replied Miss Petowker, hesitating. "What do you call it when lords break off doorknockers, and beat policemen, and play at coaches with other people's money, and all that sort of thing?"
"Aristocratic?" suggested the collector.
"Ah! Aristocratic," replied Miss Petowker; "something very aristocratic about him, isn't there?"
The gentlemen held their peace, and smiled at each other, as who should say, "Well! there's no accounting for tastes;" but the ladies resolved unanimously that Nicholas had an aristocratic air, and nobody caring to dispute the position, it was established triumphantly. — Charles Dickens

The question wasn't whether or not I cared about him; the question was, how much? I'm glad Tennyson didn't ask that, because then I'd have to ask myself; and I already knew the answer. I cared far more than was safe. — Neal Shusterman

Every now and then, we change our minds. It's our prerogative. The big secret is" - I leaned in conspiratorially - "sometimes, even we don't know why. There are times after we pick a fight where we're as confused as you are. But there's no way we're admitting it." I shrugged a shoulder, "That's why we have boobs."
Jake's eyebrows shot up.
"See, after we've acted crazy, and the guy's wondering what he's doing with us, we use them to mesmerize him, so he forgets that we're crazy." I shot Jake my most seductive smile and leaned the assets in question against his arm. "And by the way, if you look at my cleavage right now, even though I'm the one talking about it, I'll accuse you of not caring about what I saw and of just treating me like an object."
Jake swallowed hard, keeping eye contact with me, though I could tell he was fighting his impulse to look down. A mischievous glint flickered through his eyes. "And treating you like an object would be bad? — Cindi Madsen

He'd have denied it to his dying breath but Derwent wasn't as tough as he pretended to be. For the very small number of people he cared about, Derwent would give his all. It made him vulnerable, and every now and then that vulnerability showed. — Jane Casey

Great teachers often come to us in humble packaging. That little dog held the wisdom of a sage in his heart. I learned from him that healing is not about the success or failure of the physical body, that physical survival is secondary. All creatures wish to live and thrive, but bodies do wear out. The number of days we walk the earth (or fly or swim or crawl on it) is not the point. Animals live in the present moment. If kindness, caring, and respect fill that moment, life is fill, no matter what came before or what might come in the future. A soul that feels loved is joyous and healed. — Linda Bender

Then you shouldn't be worried about him being with me. You can have him back when I'm done with him. — Colleen Chen