from The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry

As usual I don't have words for what I mean. I am trying to say I loved Bet, yes, soul to soul, and the lines and wrinkles were part of some other story, her own harrowing reading of her own life.

from The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry

It is funny, but it strikes me that a person without anecdotes that they nurse while they live, and that survive them, are more likely to be utterly lost not only to history but the family following them.

from Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Life, by Shauna Niequist

Everything is interim. Everything is a path or a preparation for the next thing, and we never know what the next thing is. Life is like that, of course, twisty and surprising. But life with God is like that exponentially. We can dig in, make plans, write in stone, pretend we're not listening, but the voice of God has a way of being heard. It seeps in like smoke or vapor even when we've barred the door against any last-minute changes, and it moves us to different countries and different emotional territories and different ways of living. It keeps us moving and dancing and watching, and never lets us drop down into a life set on cruise control or a life ruled by remote control. Life with God is a dancing dream, full of flashes and last-minute exits and generally all the things we've said we'll never do. And with the surprises comes great hope.

from Shadowfeet, by Brooke Frasier

There's distraction buzzing in my head

saying in the shadows it's easier to stay

but I've heard rumours of true reality

whispers of a well-lit way

from The Tempest by William Shakespeare

What's past is prologue.

from The School of Essential Ingredients, by Erica Bauermeister

"That's wonderful," said Abuelita when Lillian recounted the story to her the next day. "You made [your mother] remember her life. Now she just needs to reach out to it. That recipe," Abuelita said in answer to Lillian's questioning face, "must be yours. But you will find it," she continued. "You are a cook. It's a gift from your mother."

     Lillian raised an eyebrow skeptically. Abuelita gazed at her, gently amused.

     "Sometimes, nina, our greatest gifts grow from what we are not given."

from Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte

... I had undergone a transforming process; that my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple -- or rather that she had taken with her the serene atmosphere I had been breathing in her vicinity -- and that now I was left in my natural element, and beginning to feel the stirring of old emotions. It did not seem as if a prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone; it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquility was no more. My world had, for some years, been Lowood; my experience had been of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.

on Jesus, by Blaise Pascal

(One of my favorite co-op classes I ever taught was on scientists who were believers. Never one to really love science, I developed much more of a passion for it, and was awed to learn that some of the greatest scientists in history had very profound things to say about faith, the persons of the trinity, creation, etc.)

Not only do we know God by Jesus Christ alone, but we know ourselves by Jesus Christ. We know life and death only through Jesus Christ. Apart from Jesus Christ, we do not know what is our life, nor our death, nor God, nor ourselves.
                                                                                                                (c) Blaise Pascal