When a man dreams his own dream, he is the sport of his dream; when Another gives it to him, that Other is able to fulfil it.
– Lilith, chapter XLVII,
George MacDonald
When a man dreams his own dream, he is the sport of his dream; when Another gives it to him, that Other is able to fulfil it.
– Lilith, chapter XLVII,
George MacDonald
[the Sun] is but a coal from the altar of the Father’s never-ending sacrifice to his children. See every little flower straighten its stalk, lift up its neck, and with outstretched head stand expectant: something more than the sun, greater than the light, is coming, is coming – none the less surely coming that it is long upon the road! What matters to-day, or to-morrow, or ten thousand years to Life himself, to Love himself! He is coming, is coming, and the necks of all humanity are stretched out to see him come! Every morning will they thus outstretch themselves, every evening will they droop and wait – until he comes. – Is this but an airdrawn vision? When he comes, will he indeed find them watching thus?
– Lilith, chapter XLV,
George MacDonald
yield himself and lie down; he was made for liberty and must not be left a slave. […] A desert, wide and dreary, parts him who lies down to die from him who lies down to live.
– Lilith, chapter XLII,
George MacDonald
I see thee never more;
But love, and help, and pain, beautiful one,
Have made thee mine, till all my years are done.
– Phantastes, chapter IV,
George MacDonald
a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love.
– Phantastes, chapter X,
George MacDonald