The region belonging to the pure intellect is straitened: the imagination labours to extend its territories, to give it room. She sweeps… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Doubts are the messengers of the Living One to the honest. They are the first knock at our door of things that… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
God Himself - His thoughts, His will, His love, His judgments are men's home. To think His thoughts, to choose His will,… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Some thinkers would feel sorely hampered if at liberty to use no forms but such as existed in nature, or to invent… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
The region of the senses is the unbelieving part of the human soul. — 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
