Thomas Merton wrote, “There is always a temptation to diddle around in the contemplative life, making itsy-bitsy statues.” There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. — Annie Dillard, The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
(via Book Paintings by Ekaterina Panikanova | Colossal)
That Christ’s incarnation occurred improbably, ridiculously, at such-and-such a time, into such-and-such a place, is referred to - with great sincerity even among believers - as “the scandal of particularity.” Well, the “scandal of particularity” is the only world that I, in particular, know. What use has eternity for light? We’re all up to our necks in this particular scandal. — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 81
I found this photo when I was digging around in college stuff today. One day, I really will write a book on Johnny Cash and Billy Graham.
I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feeling save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator - our very self-consciousness - is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends. — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 80
For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over again. —
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via pale-afternoon)
This is not F. Scott Fitzgerald.
(Source: el-tilichero, via chamomileblossoms)
Gerard Manley Hopkins died on June 8, 1889. He was 44 years old. His last words apparently were, “I am so happy, I am so happy. I loved my life.”