The world was new each day for God so made it daily. Yet it contained within it all the evils as before, no more, no less.
The Crossing by Cormac McCarthy
This is absolutely lovely.
I tell my mother, “You’ll never stop teaching me.” She said, “Well don’t blame me for everything.
- Scott Simon (from NPR) tweets from his mother’s ICU bedside. (via straymessages)
Asked what his wishes for himself would be, if wishes were horses, he replied in the clearest of phrases: ‘Pegasus, only Pegasus.’
if wishes be horses
The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.
- Milan Kundera, The book of laughter and forgetting (via boomboomthemainecoone)
[He] never understands anybody, because understanding means merging, identifying. That is the secret of poetry. We burn in the woman we adore, we burn in the thought we espouse, we burn in the landscape that moves us.
from The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera
…if God should withdraw his hand, they would avail no more to keep you from falling, than the thin air to hold up a person that is suspended in it. Your wickedness makes you as it were heavy as lead, and to tend downward with great weight and pressure towards hell; and if God should let you go, you would immediately sink and swiftly descend and plunge into the bottomless gulf, and your healthy constitution, and your own care and prudence, and best contrivance, and all your righteousness, would have no more influence to uphold you and keep you out of hell, than a spider’s web would have to stop a falling rock. Were it not that so is the sovereign pleasure of God, the earth would not bear you one moment; for you are a burden to it; the creation groans with you; the creature is made subject to the bondage of your corruption, not willingly; the sun don’t willingly shine upon you to give you light to serve sin and Satan; the earth don’t willingly yield her increase to satisfy your lusts; not is it willingly a stage for your wickedness to be acted upon; the air don’t willingly serve you for breath to maintain the flame of life in your vitals, while you spend your life in the service of God’s enemies.
- Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God - Jonathan Edwards
Acts have their being in the witness. [….] In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.
The Crossing by Cormac McCarthy(via straymessages)