Quotes About Wonder

Anyway, this was my delicious walk in the rain. What was it actually about? Think about what it is that music is trying to say. It was something like that.

The way I'd like to go on living in this world wouldn't hurt anything, I'd just go on walking uphill and downhill, looking around, and so what if half the time I don't know what for —

In this universe we are given two gifts: the ability to love, and the ability to ask questions.

But if they were only shadow-companions, still they were constant, and powerful, and amazing.

Have you stood, staring out over the swamps, the swirling rivers where the birds like tossing fires flash through the trees, their bodies exchanging a certain happiness in the sleek, amazing humdrum of nature's design — blood's heaven, spirit's haven, to which you cannot belong?

I have refused to live locked in the orderly house of reasons and proofs. The world I live in and believe in is wider than that. And anyway, what's wrong with Maybe?

Surely the sea is the most beautiful fact in our universe, but you won't find a fisherman who will say so; what they say is, See you later.

The chickens ate all the crickets. The foxes ate all the chickens. This morning a friend hauled his boat to shore and gave me the most wondrous fish. In its silver scales it seemed dressed for a wedding. The gills were pulsing, just above where shoulders would be, if it had had shoulders. The eyes were still looking around, I don't know what they were thinking. The chickens ate all the crickets. The foxes ate all the chickens. I ate the fish.

When I wake, and you are already wiping the stars away

So quickly, without a moment's warning, does the miraculous swerve and point to us, demanding that we be its willing servant.

Every day I'm still looking for God and I'm still finding him everywhere, in the dust, in the flowerbeds. Certainly in the oceans, in the islands that lay in the distance continents of ice, countries of sand each with its own set of creatures and God, by whatever name. How perfect to be aboard a ship with maybe a hundred years still in my pocket. But it's late, for all of us, and in truth the only ship there is is the ship we are all on burning the world as we go.

Beauty can both shout and whisper, and still it explains nothing.

I saw what a child must love, I saw what love might have done had we loved in time.

Clouds have forms, porous and shape-shifting, bumptious, fleecy.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I've been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Finally I was advertised on the hotline of help, and yet there I was, slopping along happily in the stream's coolness. So maybe it was the right way after all. If this was lost, let us all be lost always.

Why do people keep asking to see God's identity papers when the darkness opening into morning is more than enough?

If you think you see a face in the clouds, why not send a greeting? It can't do any harm.

I walk, all day, across the heaven-verging field.

It is what I was born for— to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world— to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation. Nor am I talking about the exceptional, the fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant— but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations.

And this is what I learned: that the world's otherness is antidote to confusion, that standing within this otherness - the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books - can re-dignify the worst-stung heart.

His heart nearly stopped. A ship was outlined against the sky! Behind it, he saw two smaller ships. As the ships came into view, their bright sails were filled with wind and their serpent prows blazed in the new sunlight.

page and stared at Annie's sparkly drawing of the

Mary Pope Osborne