“Many a wrong, and it's curing song, many a road, and many an inn, Room to roam, but only one home, for… — george macdonald Copy Share Image
“Then I remembered that night is the fairies’ day, and the moon their sun; and I thought—Everything sleeps and dreams now: when… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Foolish is the man, and there are many such men, who would rid himself or his fellows of discomfort by setting the… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“I forced my way to the brink, stepped into the boat, pushed it, with the help of the tree-branches, out into the… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“I might here find the magic word of power to banish the demon and set me free, so that I should no… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Or, if needing years to wake thee From thy slumbrous solitudes, Come, sleep-walking, and betake thee To the friendly, sleeping woods. Sweeter… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“And Summer, dear Summer, hath years of June, With large white clouds, and cool showers at noon; And a beauty that grows… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shorewards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“My soul was like a summer evening, after a heavy fall of rain, when the drops are yet glistening on the trees… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“From Eden’s bowers the full-fed rivers flow, To guide the outcasts to the land of woe: Our Earth one little toiling streamlet… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“The love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self, where we mope and mow, striking sparks,… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“And we had met at last in this same cave of greenery, while the summer night hung round us heavy with love,… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“It was evening. The sun was below the horizon; but his rosy beams yet illuminated a feathery cloud, that floated high above… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“I knew now, that it is by loving, and not by being loved, that one can come nearest the soul of another;… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Ere long, I learned that it was not myself, but only my shadow, that I had lost. I learned that it is… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Ah, let a man beware, when his wishes, fulfilled, rain down upon him, and his happiness is unbounded.” — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“A ghost grew out of the shadowy air, And sat in the midst of her moony hair. In her gleamy hair she… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Twilight-kind, oppressing the heart as with a condensed atmosphere of dreamy undefined love and longing.” — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“No revelation can be other than partial. If for true revelation a man must be told all the truth, then farewell to revelation; yea,… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
In low theologies, hell is invariably the deepest truth, and the love of God is not so deep as hell. — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
The region belonging to the pure intellect is straitened: the imagination labours to extend its territories, to give it room. She sweeps across the… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Come, then, affliction, if my Father wills, and be my frowning friend. A friend that frowns is better than a smiling enemy. — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Ah, what is it we send up thither, where our thoughts are either a dissonance or a sweetness and a grace? — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
You must learn to be strong in the dark as well as in the day, else you will always be only half brave. — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“Few delights can equal the mere presence of one whom we trust utterly.” — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“You have tasted of death now,” said the old man. “Is it good?” “It is good,” said Mossy. “It is better than life.” “No,”… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
“I wish I had [made that song]. No, I don't That would be to take it from somebody else. But it's mine for all… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
