from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, by C.S. Lewis

The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when [Aslan] began to tear the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt.

from The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry

My next thought was that she was being cagey because she feared me, or was even perhaps in dread of speaking, in case it led her back to things she would rather forget. Of course either way I know she has suffered enormously. You can see it in in her eyes as plain as day. It is actually what gives her her strange grace, if I may say that.

from The Four Loves, by CS Lewis

We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as a way in which they should break, so be it.

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 Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson

I heard a man say once that Christians worship sorrow. That is by no means true. But we do believe there is a sacred mystery in it, it's fair to say that. There is something in her face I have always felt I must be sufficient to, as if there is a truth in it that tests the meaning of what I say. It's a fine face, very intelligent, but the sadness in it is engrafted into the intelligence, so to speak, until they seem one thing. I believe there is a dignity in sorrow simply because it is God's good pleasure that there should be. He is forever raising up those who are brought low.

from Homily XXVII On Numbers, by Origen (cited in Depression, A Stubborn Darkness, by Ed Welch)

"My soul has long been on pilgrimage" (Ps. 119:54). Understand, then, if you can, what the pilgrimages of the soul are, especially when it laments with groaning and grief that it has been on pilgrimage so long. We understand these pilgrimages only dully and darkly so long as the pilgrimage still lasts. But when the soul has returned to its rest, that is, to the homeland of paradise, it will be taught more truly and will understand more truly the meaning of what the pilgrimage was.

from Scent of Water, by Elizabeth Goudge

He had a round clerical hat, dusty and green with age. He put it on, gripped his umbrella in his left hand and held out his right to me. I held it and it was dry and rough and hot. "My dear," he said, "I will pray for you every day of my life until I die." 

   Then he abruptly let go of my hand, turned his back on me and stumbled down the steps that led from the front door to the drive. At the bottom he turned around again, and looking into his face I noticed that when he was neither eager nor alarmed his eyes had the most extraordinary quietness in them. "My dear," he said, "love, your God, is a trinity. There are three necessary prayers and they have three words each. They are these, 'Lord have mercy. Thee I adore. Into thy hands.' Not difficult to remember. If in times of distress you hold to these you will do well." Then he lifted his hat and turned around again. I stood at the door and watched him go. 

from Diary of an Old Soul, by George MacDonald

When I can no more stir my soul to move,
And life is but the ashes of a fire;
When I can but remember that my heart
Once used to live and love, long and aspire --
Oh be thou then the first, the one thou are;
Be thou the calling, before all answering love,
And in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.

Diary of an Old Soul