Quotes from George MacDonald

He may delay because it would not be safe to give us at once what we ask: we are not ready for it. To give ere we could truly receive, would be to destroy the very heart and hope of prayer, to cease to be our Father. The delay itself may work to bring us nearer to our help, to increase the desire, perfect the prayer, and ripen the receptive condition.

Bees and butterflies, moths and dragonflies, the flowers and the brooks and the clouds.

Right gladly would He free them from their misery, but He knows only one way: He will teach them to be like himself, meek and lowly, bearing with gladness the yoke of His Father's will. This in the one, the only right, the only possible way of freeing them from their sin, the cause of their unrest.

Seeing is not believing—it is only seeing.

But when we are following the light, even its extinction is a guide.

Ere long, I learned that it was not myself, but only my shadow, that I had lost. I learned that it is better, a thousand-fold, for a proud man to fall and be humbled, than to hold up his head in his pride and fancied innocence. I learned that he that will be a hero, will barely be a man; that he that will be nothing but a doer of his work, is sure of his manhood.

The back door of every tomb opens on a hilltop.

It is amazing from what a mere fraction of a fact concerning him a man will dare judge the whole of another man

I had chosen the dead rather than the living, the thing thought rather than the thing thinking.

I looked, and saw: before her, cast from an unseen heavenly mirror, stood the reflection of herself, and beside it a form of splendent beauty. She trembled, and sank again on the floor helpless. She knew the one that God had intended her to be, the other that she had made herself.

A mountain is a strange and awful thing. In old times, without knowing so much of their strangeness and awfulness as we do, people were yet more afraid of mountains. But then somehow they had not come to see how beautiful they are as well as awful, and they hated them--and what people hate they must fear. Now that we have learned to look at them with admiration, perhaps we do not feel quite awe enough of them. To me they are beautiful terrors.

Seek not that your sons and your daughters should not see visions, should not dream dreams; seek that they should see true visions, that they should dream noble dreams. Such out-going of the imagination is one with aspiration, and will do more to elevate above what is low and vile than all possible inculcations of morality.

Then the great old, young, beautiful princess turned to Curdie. 'Now, Curdie, are you ready?' she said. 'Yes ma'am,' answered Curdie. 'You do not know what for.' 'You do, ma'am. That is enough.

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 that.' 'What makes it yours?' 'I love it so.' 'Does loving a thing make it yours?' 'I think so, Mother -- at least more than anything else can. . . . Love makes the only myness,' said Diamond.

How old are you? Ten, answered Tangle. You don't look like it, said the lady. How old are you, please? returned Tangle. Thousands of years old, answered the lady. You don't look like it, said Tangle. Don't I? I think I do. Don't you see how beautiful I am!

Books are but dead bodies to you, and a library nothing but a catacomb!

Afterwards I learned, that the best way to manage some kinds of painful thoughts, is to dare them to do their worst; to let them lie and gnaw at your heart till they are tired; and you find you still have a residue of life they cannot kill.

It is a hard thing for a rich man to grow poor; but it is an awful thing for him to grow dishonest, and some kinds of speculation lead a man deep into dishonesty before he thinks what he is about. Poverty will not make a man worthless—he may be of worth a great deal more when he is poor than he was when he was rich; but dishonesty goes very far indeed to make a man of no value—a thing to be thrown out in the dust-hole of the creation, like a bit of broken basin, or dirty rag.

His little heart was so full of merriment that it could not hold it all, and it ran over into theirs.

I've been thinking about it a great deal, and it seems to me that although one sixpence is as good as another sixpence, not twenty lambs would do instead of one sheep whose face you knew. Somehow, when once you've looked into anybody's eyes, right deep down into them, I mean, nobody will do for that one anymore. Nobody, ever so beautiful or so good, will make up for that one going out of sight.

Thou art beautiful because God created thee, but thou art a slave to sin... wickedness has made you ugly.

I was doing the wrong of never wanting or trying to better. And now I see that I have been letting things go as the would for a long time. Whatever came into my head I did and whatever didn't come into my head I didn't do.

I was a bookworm then, but when I came to know it, I woke among the butterflies.

I should not be surprised, said Mr. Graham, that the day should come when men will refuse to believe in God simply on the ground of the apparent injustice of things. They would argue that there might be either an omnipotent being who did not care, or a good being who could not help, but that there could not be a being both all good and omnipotent or else he would never have suffered things to be as they are.