When I look like this into the blue sky, it seems so deep, so peaceful, so full of a mysterious tenderness, that… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Where did you get your eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Every soul has a landscape that changes with the wind that sweeps the sky, with the clouds that return after its rain. — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
O Christ, my life, possess me utterly. Take me and make a little Christ of me. If I am anything but thy… — George MacDonald Copy Share Image
Her face was fair and pretty, with eyes like two bits of night sky, each with a star dissolved in the blue. — 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