Quotes About Joy

Carrying my babies was a marvelous mystery, lives growing unseen except by the slow swelling of my belly. Death is an even greater mystery. ... The God I cry out to in anguish or joy can neither be proved nor disapproved. The hope I have that death is not the end of all our questions can neither be proved nor disproved.

It's my worst trouble, getting fond. If I didn't get fond I could be happy all the time.

Charles Wallace and the unicorn moved through the time-spinning reaches of a far glazy, and he realized that the galaxy itself was part of a mighty orchestra, and each star and planet within the galaxy added its own instrument to the music of the spheres. As long as the ancient harmonies were sung, the universe would not entirely lose its joy.

I cannot find it in me to believe that God enjoys long faces and scowls at merriment.

the joy and love were so tangible that Meg felt that if she only knew where to reach she could touch it with her bare hands.

The winter is cold, is cold. All's spent in keeping warm. Has joy been frozen, too? I blow upon my hands Stiff from the biting wind. My heart beats slow, beats slow. What has become of joy? If joy's gone from my heart Then it is closed to You Who made it, gave it life... Elusive, evasive, peace comes Only when it's not sought. Help me forget the cold That grips the grasping world...

How did all this happen? Isn't it wonderful? I feel as though I were just being born! I'm not alone anymore! Do you realize what that means to me?

I do not think that it is naïve to think that it is the tiny, particular acts of love and joy which are going to swing the balance, rather than general, impersonal charities.

Joy is what has made the pain bearable and, in the end, creative rather than destructive.

Ananda: that joy without which the universe will fall apart and collapse.

That joy in existence without which the universe will fall apart and collapse.

It's my worst trouble, getting fond. If I didn't get fond I could be happy all the time.

And joy, Grandfather would remind me, joy is the infallible sign of the presence of God.

Stars, galaxies, circled in cosmic pattern, and the joy of unity was greater than any disorder within.

Let us not try to understand the pattern, only rejoice in its beauty.

Why does the joy of love contain so much sadness? We're afraid of the sadness because it grows and spreads and becomes too terrible to be borne. And because it leads to tenderness. Tenderness. The moment of tenderness, the undoing, unbearable moment of tenderness.

The breaking of the harmony was pain, was brutal anguish, but the harmony kept rising above the pain, and the joy would pulse with light, and light and dark once more knew each other, and were part of the joy.

The better word, of course, is joy, because it doesn't have anything to do with pain, physical or spiritual. I have been wholly in joy when I have been in pain—childbirth is the obvious example. Joy is what has made the pain bearable and, in the end, creative rather than destructive.

Now we leave our tears for mirth. Now we sing, not death, but birth.

When I think of the children's books I love best, I realize that they're written on a great many different levels. Now the first level is story. A good children's book must hold the reader's interest. It must be first and foremost a good story that will make the reader keep wanting to go on turning the pages. But underneath that good story is buried treasure. No one person will find all of the treasure, but each will discover special joys.

The child is aware of unlimited potential, and this munificence is one of the joys of creativity. Those of use who struggle in our own ways, small or great, trickles or rivers, to create, are constantly having to unlearn what the world would teach us...

In real play, which is real concentration, the child is not only outside time, he is outside himself. He has thrown himself completely into whatever it is that he is doing. A child playing a game, building a sand castle, painting a picture, is completely in what he is doing. His self-consciousness is gone; his consciousness is wholly focused outside himself.

the joy and love were so tangible

Ananda," Mrs. Murry said thoughtfully. "That rings some kind of bell." "It's Sanskrit," Charles Wallace said. Meg asked, "Does it mean anything?" "That joy in existence without which the universe will fall apart and collapse.