She always had to have someone to love...She couldn't seem to believe that anyone could really love her. She always thought it was because she was a star, not just because of her herself, and she alwa...
Ridicule is a terrible witherer of the flower of the imagination. It binds us where we should be free.
Questions, questions.Gaudior stomped one silver hoof. I am not some kind of computer. Only machines have glib answers for everything.
Perhaps one of the most compelling and moving descriptions of that internal battle comes near the end of the book, when Mrs Whatsit tells the children that life, with its rules, its obligations, and i...
People are more than just the way they look.
On Camazotz we are all happy because we are all alike. Differences create problems. You know that, don’t you, dear sister?
Now wonder our youth is confused and in pain; they long for God, for the transcendent, and they are offered, far too often, either piosity or sociology, neither of which meets their needs, and they ar...
None of us likes to see himself as he must appear to others.
Meg looked. The dark shadow was still there. It had not lessened or dispersed with the coming of night. And where the shadow was, the stars were not visible.What could there be about a shadow that was...
Like and equal are not the same thing at all.
Light and darkness dancing together, born together, born of each other, neither preceding, neither following, both fully being in joyful rhythm.
Life, with its rules, its obligations, and its freedoms, is like a sonnet: You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. - Mrs. Whatsit
It’s all been said better before. If I thought I had to say it better than anybody else, I’d never start. Better or worse is immaterial. The thing is that it has to be said; by me; ontologically. We e...
In the act of creativity, the artist lets go the self-control which he normally clings to and is open to riding the wind.
If you accept any position of authority you have to know when to break or circumvent a rule. It’s the knowing when that’s important.
If there is to be any peace or reason, we have to create it in our own hearts and homes.
If someone knows who he is, really knows, then he doesn’t need to hate.
If she could give love to IT perhaps it would shrivel up and die, for she was sure that IT could not withstand love.
I would, quite often, like to be grownup, wise, and sophisticated. But these gifts are not mine.
I get glimmers of the bad nineteenth-century teaching which has made Mother remove God from the realm of mystery and beauty and glory, but why do people half my age think that they don't have faith un...