In books I find the dead as if they were alive; in books I foresee things to come; in books warlike affairs are set forth; from books come forth the laws of peace.
All things are corrupted and decay in time; Saturn ceases not to devour the children that he generates; all the glory of the world would be buried in oblivion, unless God had provided mortals with the remedy of books.
Reading is one of the great human delights.
For me writing has always felt like praying.
I have found that writing is the way I most easily pray.
You do not write the best you can for the sake of art, but for the sake of returning your talent increased to the invisible God to use or not use as he sees fit.
Wherever you turn your eyes the world can shine like transfiguration. You don’t have to bring a thing to it except a little willingness to see. Only, who could have the courage to see it?
Our lives are lived in relationship to words, written and spoken, sacred and mundane. They are manna for the journey. As embodied beings we take our whole bodies with us into the act of reading, which, at its best, is spacious, full-bodied, wholehearted, and infused with the breath of life.
When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability.
When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability.
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.