My son!
My son! Comforts, the minors, and speak to their heart.
— from The Air Traffic Controller (God)
In the book
Never dress for the day without a blessing on your lips, and enter the presence of your Creator with the deepest reverence, knowing before Whom you stand. Go and comfort the mourners, and speak to their hearts. Drive anger out of your heart, for anger lodges only in the bosom of fools; never let a hasty temper master you, least of all with your own household. — The Air Traffic Controller (God)