As for you girls, you must risk everything for Freedom, and give everything for Passion, loving everything that your hearts and your bodies love. The only thing higher for a girl and more sacred for a young woman than her freedom and her passion should be her desire to make her life into poetry, surrendering...

Long before there was ever a King James Version of our Bible, there was a gospel truth…and long before doctrines and denominations, the preeminence of the gospel was already ripe to harvest. Before man had ever thought about creating symbols to represent spiritual things…there was a gospel.

lit” each lantern lamp must tap into the universal Source of energy.If the link is weak, depression and-or illness sets in.If the link is strong, life persists.This metaphor to me best illustrates the universe.

I could end this with a moral,as if this were a fable about animals,though no fables are really about animals.

I once had a lovewho folded secrets between her thighs like napkins and concealed memories in the valley of her breasts.There was no match for the freckles on her chest, and no one could mistake them for a field of honeysuckles.Upon her lips, a thousand lies were spread in sweet gloss.Her kiss was like a...

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.

I follow suit, said the lion, vacating his coat of arms and movie logos; and the eagle said, Get me off this flag.

She called herself Europa, and wandered the world from girlhood till death. She believed only in her life and in her dreams. She called herself Europa, and her god was Beauty.

Bentley mounted Silverwood, look down at his parents, and launched the powerful steed into the kingdom…a kingdom waiting for one young knight to discover the truth of a Stranger.

…Tolstoy said, happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story – then what does that make us?…

I’ve been lying in the grass. All morning long, I lay here waiting for the dawn.

Jesus.

When they see beyond the sky,When they know beyond the mind,When they hear the song of the Burning Light;Take these Gifts of My Outstretched Hand,Weave them together.I shall come.

With her enchanting songs, her rare beauty, and clever tricks, this wild ‘wanderess’ ensnared my soul like a gypsy-thief, and led me foolish and blind to where you find me now. The first time I saw her, fires were alight. It was a spicy night in Barcelona. The air was fragrant and free.

A man inherited a field in which was an accumulation of old stone, part of an older hall. Of the old stone some had already been used in building the house in which he actually lived, not far from the old house of his fathers. Of the rest he took some and built a tower....

He never told her his name.

All I want in this life are three…a moonlit beach on the starlit sea,a breath of opium, and thee.

I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history – true or feigned– with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse applicability with allegory, but the one resides...

Comparisons are like rigid fingers—eager to point at a subject but unwilling to grasp it.

It’s terrible to have to fear that your powers will activate at any given moment. Especially when you draw close to people… and find that your only choice is to pull away. It’s overwhelming when you find a time, a person, with which there’s nothing to fear.

Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the...

She is free in her wildness, she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. ‘Time’ for her isn’t something to fight against. Her life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water.

Adelaide remembered the first storm Justinius had seen her through. She had seen many storms since then, some milder than others, some worse than the first, and the Prince had been with her, comforting her and protecting her life through each wail of the wind and each crash of thunder. If he could free her...

If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due...

You must give everything to make your life as beautiful as the dreams that dance in your imagination.

The two things that came out clearly were the sense of reality in the background and the mythical value: the essence of myth being that it should have no taint of allegory to the maker and yet should suggest incipient allegories to the reader.[C.S. Lewis writes to J.R.R. Tolkien on December 7, 1929]

In order to get over the ethical difficulties presented by the naive naturalism of many parts of those Scriptures, in the divine authority of which he firmly believed, Philo borrowed from the Stoics (who had been in like straits in respect of Greek mythology), that great Excalibur which they had forged with infinite pains and...

The Told shone brightly. They truly stood out among the Inhabitants for their life and love, and the power to rebrand words went with them. They employed every type of literary term to form new passages of powerful change, and they rose above the tendency to write about the mundane or the antics of the...

I was an adventurer, but she was not an adventuress. She was a ‘wanderess.’ Thus, she didn’t care about money, only experiences – whether they came from wealth or from poverty, it was all the same to her.

I thought I saw how stories of this kind could steal past a certain inhibition which had paralysed much of my own religion in childhood. Why did one find it so hard to feel as one was told one ought to feel about God or the sufferings of Christ? I thought the chief reason was...

This philistinism of interpretation is more rife in literature than in any other art. For decades now, literary critics have understood it to be their task to translate the elements of the poem or play or novel or story into something else. Sometimes a writer will be so uneasy before the naked power of his...

Not taking the Bible (or other texts based on ‘revealed truths’) literally leaves it up to the reader to cherry-pick elements for belief. There exists no guide for such cherry-picking, and zero religious sanction for it.

When she was a child, my love carried a road-map in her hand the way other girls carried handkerchiefs. She always knew the way. Her feet were little wings. And her beautiful head was a compass.

When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of nocturnal sky, for I was lying on my back with out-stretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars. Only half awake, still unaware that those depths were sky, having no roof between those depths and me, no branches to screen them,...

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;It is the green-ey’d monster, which doth mockThe meat it feeds on.

The Durhannians’ countenance lifted as is the way of Hope. There was a village elder whose eyes flickered with the light of Understanding. We knew he would soon be able to illuminate paths in the darkness.