The future cannot blame the present, just as the present cannot blame the past. The hope is always here, always alive, but only your fierce caring can fan it into a fire to warm the world.
Funny,’ Will said, as they picked their way through. ‘Things are absolutely awful and yet people look much happier than usual. Look at them all. Bubbling.’
But a wild creature will always go back to the wild, in the end.
Sometimes you must seem to hurt something in order to do good for it.
I do not believe any power can possess the mind of a man or woman... I believe in God-given free will, you see. I think nothing is forced on us, except by other people like ourselves. I think our choi...
Tommy looked blank. What's a flashlight?You don't have flashlights? Jessup said. Jeeze! A cylinder, like, with batteries inside it, and a light bulb behind glass at one end--Tommy's blue eyes glinted...
Your father... doesn't work late for you to pinch his dinner.
You know how many there are. You can't convince them and you can't kill 'em. You can only do your best in the opposite direction...
He sat there all through a history lesson about the Roman Empire, which--having lived in the Roman Empire, for the four hundred years during which it had included the British Isles--he found inaccurat...
He was not for that moment a human being, but a frenzied creature possessed by rage, turned into an animal. All that could be seen in him was the urge to hurt, and it was, as it always will be, the mo...
But those men who know anything at all about the Light also know that there is a fierceness to its power, like the bare sword of the law, or the white burning of the sun. Suddenly his voice sounded to...
The strange white world lay stroked by silence. No birds sang. The garden was no longer there, in this forested land. Nor were the out-buildings nor the old crumbling walls. There lay only a narrow cl...
They could smell a strangeness in the breeze that blew faintly on their faces down the hill; a beckoning smell of salt and seaweed and excitement.
For this was Christmas, which had always been a time of magic, to him and to all the world.
All life is theatre,' he said. 'We are all actors, you and I, in a play which nobody wrote and which nobody will see. We have no audience but ourselves....
Open for sun, closed for rain, that's the poor man's weathervane.
Every human being who loves another loves imperfection, for there is no perfect being on this earth--nothing is so simple as that.
The Three Elders of the World,’ he said, ‘are the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, the Eagle of Gwernabwy, and the Blackbird of Celli Gadarn.
Little Hawk, it is not for us to tell how great and terrible things come about. Only the Great Spirit can see all.
The night became silver again; looking up, it was as if they saw the moon sailing through the clouds instead of the other way around; racing smoothly across the sky, passing puffs and wisps of cloud o...