“For really there is nothing like wings for getting you into trouble. But, on the other hand, if you are in trouble, there is nothing like wings for getting you out of it.”
“Trying not to believe things when in your heart you are almost sure they are true, is as bad for the temper as anything I know.”
“Grown-up people find it very difficult to believe really wonderful things, unless they have what they call proof. But children will believe almost anything, and grown-ups know this. That is why they tell you that the earth is round like an orange, when you can see perfectly well that it is flat and lumpy; and why they say that the earth goes round the sun, when you can see for yourself any day that the sun gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night like a good sun it is, and the earth knows its place, and lies as still as a mouse.”
“And that, my dear children, is the moral of this chapter. I did not mean it to have a moral, but morals are nasty forward beings, and will keep putting in their oars where they are not wanted. And since the moral has crept in, quite against my wishes, you might as well think of it....”
“Robert rushed to the gravel-pit, found the Psammead, and presently wished for— But that, too, is another story.”
“feathers, and a shield and a lance and a sword. His armor and his weapons were all, I am almost sure, of quite different periods. The shield was thirteenth century, while the sword was of the pattern used in the Peninsular War. The cuirass was of the time of Charles I., and the helmet dated from the Second Crusade. The arms on the shield were very grand—three red running lions on a blue ground. The tents were of the latest brand approved of by our modern War Office, and the whole appearance of camp, army, and leader might have been a shock to some. But Robert was dumb with admiration, and it all seemed to him perfectly correct, because he knew no more of heraldry or archæology than the gifted artists who usually drew the pictures for the historical romances. The scene was indeed "exactly like a picture." He admired”
“We haven't really got anything worth having for our wishes.'
'We've had things happening,' said Robert; 'that's always something.'
'It's not enough, unless they're the right things,' said Cyril firmly.”
“They didn't know being dead is only being asleep, and you're bound to wake up somewhere or other, either where you go to sleep or some better place.”
“My Lamb, you are so very small, You have not learned to read at all; Yet never a printed book withstands The urgence of your dimpled hands. So, though this book is for yourself, Let mother keep it on the shelf Till you can read. O days that pass, That day will come too soon, alas!”
“The house was three miles from the station, but, before the dusty hired hack had rattled along for five minutes, the children began to put their heads out of the carriage window and say, "Aren't we nearly there?”
“For London is like prison for children, especially if their relations are not rich.”
“Grown-up people find it very difficult to believe really wonderful things, unless they have what they call proof.”
“Don't you know a Sand-fairy when you see one?" It looked so grieved and hurt that Jane hastened to say, "Of course I see you are, now. It's quite plain now one comes to look at you." "You came to look at me, several sentences ago,”
“Never mind what I say. I am always saying what I shouldn't say. In fact, I usually say what I really think. A great mistake nowadays. It makes one so liable to be misunderstood.”
“The answer is, I chose to seek my fortune. Failed. Lost all. Then got a fortune I had not ever looked for. Lost it though. Got it back. Lost it. Got another - the story is somewhat repetitious.”
“ان اهم مجال للإعطاء ليس هو مجال الأشياء المادية, بل هو المجال الذي يكمن في العالم الانساني بصفة خاصة. فماذا يعطي الانسان للآخر ؟ انه يعطي من نفسه, من أثمن ما يملك, انه يعطي حياته. وليس هذا يعني بالضرورة انه يضحي بحياته للآخر-بل انه يعني انه يعطيه من ذلك الشيء الحي فيه, انه يعطيه من فرحه, من شغفه, من فهمه, من علمه, من مرحه, من حزنه- من كل التعابير والتجليات لذلك الشيء الحي الذي فيه. وهكذا باعطائه من حياته انما يثري الشخص الآخر بالحياة وذلك بتعزيزه لشعوره هو بالحياة. انه لا يعطي لكي يتلقى, العطاء هو ذاته فرح رفيع. ولكنه في العطاء لا يملك الا أن يحمل شيئا الى الحياة في الشخص الآخر, وذلك الذي يحمله الى الحياة ينعكس بالتالي عليه, انه العطاء الحقيقي لا يملك الا أن يتلقى ما يعود اليه ثانية. العطاء يتضمن جعل الشخص الآخر شخصا معطاء أيضا والاثنان يشتركان في فرح ما قد حملاه الى الحياة. في فعل العطاء يولد شيء ما, وكلا الشخصين يكونان شاكرين للحياد التي تولد لهما كليهما. ويعني هذا بالنسبة للحب اذا شئنا التخصيص: ان الحب قوة تنتج الحب, والعقم هو العجز عن انتاج الحب.”
“...I realized that life isn't something to be scared of. That you don't have to hold on so tightly that you can't breathe.”
“ALONE
One of my new housemates, Stacy, wants to write a story about an astronaut. In his story the astronaut is wearing a suit that keeps him alive by recycling his fluids. In the story the astronaut is working on a space station when an accident takes place, and he is cast into space to orbit the earth, to spend the rest of his life circling the globe. Stacy says this story is how he imagines hell, a place where a person is completely alone, without others and without God. After Stacy told me about his story, I kept seeing it in my mind. I thought about it before I went to sleep at night. I imagined myself looking out my little bubble helmet at blue earth, reaching toward it, closing it between my puffy white space-suit fingers, wondering if my friends were still there. In my imagination I would call to them, yell for them, but the sound would only come back loud within my helmet. Through the years my hair would grow long in my helmet and gather around my forehead and fall across my eyes. Because of my helmet I would not be able to touch my face with my hands to move my hair out of my eyes, so my view of earth, slowly, over the first two years, would dim to only a thin light through a curtain of thatch and beard.
I would lay there in bed thinking about Stacy's story, putting myself out there in the black. And there came a time, in space, when I could not tell whether I was awake or asleep. All my thoughts mingled together because I had no people to remind me what was real and what was not real. I would punch myself in the side to feel pain, and this way I could be relatively sure I was not dreaming. Within ten years I was beginning to breathe heavy through my hair and my beard as they were pressing tough against my face and had begun to curl into my mouth and up my nose. In space, I forgot that I was human. I did not know whether I was a ghost or an apparition or a demon thing.
After I thought about Stacy's story, I lay there in bed and wanted to be touched, wanted to be talked to. I had the terrifying thought that something like that might happen to me. I thought it was just a terrible story, a painful and ugly story. Stacy had delivered as accurate a description of a hell as could be calculated. And what is sad, what is very sad, is that we are proud people, and because we have sensitive egos and so many of us live our lives in front of our televisions, not having to deal with real people who might hurt us or offend us, we float along on our couches like astronauts moving aimlessly through the Milky Way, hardly interacting with other human beings at all.”
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