Quotes About Wonder

We all know how to be a child. It's inside all of us. For me, it's just remembering how to enjoy it.

We must be open to God's miracles.

Still, I never considered what I would do if I called for the Lord and He actually appeared before me.

And when gods touched something, the normal became the supernatural, the simple became the wondrous.

It's such a big world, She'd say wistfully. Something is always happening somewhere.

Did you ever wonder? Why people gather when others die? Why people feel they should? It is because the human spirit know, deep down, that all lives intersect.

I think," he says, smiling, "God overdid it.

Look. It's one of the shortest sentences in the English language. But we don't really look, Chika. Not as adults. We look over. We glance. We move on. You looked. Your eyes flickered with curiosity. You caught fireflies and asked if they had batteries. You unearthed a penny and asked if it was treasure. And without prompting, you knew discovery should be shared.

Yet here was Morrie talking with the wonder of our college years, as if I'd simply been on a long vacation. ..I once promised I would never work for money, that I would join the Peace Corps, that I would live in beautiful, inspirational places.

However, this is too harmonious, grand, and overwhelming a universe to believe it all on accident.

They say a child's eyes are fully formed around age three, and that is why they appear so large on the face. Or maybe those years are just so full of wonder, the child can't help it.

Before newborns open their eyes, we circle them, appearing as brilliant colors, and when they clench their tiny hands for the first time, they are actually grabbing the colors they find most appealing.

Trees spend all day looking up at God.

Why would God sleep?

Lovely, isn't it?" What? "Life," he said.

As happens with all miracles, once life goes on, those who believe retell them with wonder. Those who do not, do not.

Then you came along, Chika. And maybe because I'm older now, or maybe because your eyes were so much wider than mine, or maybe because it'ssimply different when the child is in your care, something stirred. I began to lean over to see tiny miracles the way you saw them.

Somewhere between dust and the stars

And with a last stardrop, a last circle, I arrive, and she's there, chemical wonder in her eyes.

Mumtaz has six moles. Two are black: behind her ear and on her hip, in the trough of the wave that crests at her pelvis. Three are the color of rust: knuckle, corner of jaw, behind knee. And one is red, fiery, at the base of her spine, where a tail might grow. I touch them and know them because I watch her like a man in a field stares up at the stars, and I love her constellation because it contains her story and our story, and I wonder which mole is the beginning and which is the end.

Both would also wonder if this meant that they had made a mistake, that if they had but waited and watched their relationship would have flowered again, and so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born.

They were achingly beautiful, these ghostly cities—New York, Rio, Shanghai, Paris—under their stains of stars, images as though from an epoch before electricity, but with the buildings of today. Whether they looked like the past, or the present, or the future, she couldn't decide.

The air is so dry, so clear, and there's so few people, almost no lights. And you can lie on your back and look up and see the Milky Way. All the stars like a splash of milk in the sky. And you see them slowly move. Because the Earth is moving. And you feel like you're lying on a giant spinning ball in space.

If one had asked Manucci during his days as a street urchin, as he sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun Zam-Zammah, Manucci would probably have said that ACs were hot. The first time he saw one jutting out into the street from the wall of a shop in the old city, he walked up to the noisy box and was amazed at the blast of hot air it sent straight into his face. Why do people turn on hot air in the middle of summer? he often wondered.