And sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand.
If you want to write, you need to keep an honest, unpublishable journal that nobody reads, nobody but you.
Don’t try to comprehend with your mind. Your minds are very limited. Use your intuition.
Believing takes practice.
You mean you’re comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it? Yes. Mrs. Whatsit said. You’re given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.
For the things that are seen are temporal, but things that are unseen are eternal.
We think because we have words, not the other way around. The more words we have, the better able we are to think conceptually.
Creative scientists and saints expect revelation and do not fear it. Neither do children. But as we grow up and we are hurt, we learned not to trust.
That’s something I’ve noticed about food: whenever there’s a crisis if you can get people to eating normally things get better.
It might be a good idea if, like the White Queen, we practiced believing six impossible things every morning before breakfast, for we are called on to believe what to many people is impossible. Instead of rejoicing in this glorious “impossible” which gives meaning and dignity to our lives, we try to domesticate God, to make his might actions comprehensible to our finite minds.
It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them – and they simply don’t need you. That’s all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they’ll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on – this desperate need – and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.
We can surely no longer pretend that our children are growing up into a peaceful, secure, and civilized world. We’ve come to the point where it’s irresponsible to try to protect them from the irrational world they will have to live in when they grow up. The children themselves haven’t yet isolated themselves by selfishness and indifference; they do not fall easily into the error of despair; they are considerably braver than most grownups. Our responsibility to them is not to pretend that if we don’t look, evil will go away, but to give them weapons against it.
I think your mythology would call them fallen angels. War and hate are their business, and one of their chief weapons is un-Naming – making people not know who they are. If someone knows who he is, really knows, then he doesn’t need to hate. That’s why we still need Namers, because there are places throughout the universe like your planet Earth. When everyone is really and truly Named, then the Echthroi will be vanquished.
And I can’t say it now. I can’t say what I want to say. I hold you – I – I clutch you, because I love you so desperately, and time is so short, we have such a little time in which to live and be young, even at best, and I put my arms around you and hold you because I want to love you while I can and I want to know I’m loving you, only it doesn’t mean anything because you aren’t afraid. You aren’t frightened so that you want to clutch it all while you can.
We don’t have to know everything at once. We just do one thing at a time, as it is given us to do.
To love is to be vulnerable; and it is only in vulnerability and risk – not safety and security – that we overcome darkness.
There are still stars which move in ordered and beautiful rhythm. There are still people in this world who keep promises. Even little ones, like your cooking stew over your Bunsen burner. You may be in the middle of an experiment, but you still remember to feed your family. That’s enough to keep my heart optimistic, no matter how pessimistic my mind. And you and I have good enough minds to know how very limited and finite they really are. The naked intellect is an extraordinarily inaccurate instrument.
Now wonder our youth is confused and in pain; they long for God, for the transcendent, and they are offered, far too often, either piosity or sociology, neither of which meets their needs, and they are introduced to churches which have become buildings that are a safe place to go to escape the awful demands of God.
Stay angry, little Meg,” Mrs Whatsit whispered. “You will need all your anger now.
We have to make decisions, and we can’t make them if they’re based on fear.