George MacDonald

George
MacDonald
1824
1905

Scottish Author, Poet and Minister known for his fairy tales and fantasy works

Author Quotes

Trust to God to weave your thread into the great web, though the pattern shows it not yet.

We're looking into conserving landfill space. We're looking to generate energy without relying on fossil fuel. So there's a lot of interest in using this waste stream and turning it into a beneficial product.

When a man is true, if he were in hell he could not be miserable. He is right with himself because right with Him whence he came. To be right with God is to be right with the universe: one with the power, the love, the will of the mighty Father, the cherisher of joy, the Lord of laughter, whose are all glories, all hopes, who loves everything and hates nothing but selfishness.

While a satisfied justice is an unavoidable eternal event, a satisfied revenge is an eternal impossibility.

You have tasted of death now, said the old man. Is it good? It is good, said Mossy. It is better than life. No, said the old man: it is only more life.

Two of you can be no match for the three giants, I will find you, if I can, a third brother, who will take on himself the third share of the fight, and the preparation...I will show him to you in a glass, and, when he comes, you will know him at once. If he will share your endeavors, you must teach him all you know, and he will repay you well, in present song, and in future deeds.' She opened the door of a curious old cabinet that stood in the room. On the inside of this door was an oval convex mirror...we at length saw reflected the place where we stood, and the old dame seated in her chair...at the feet of the dame lay a young man...weeping. 'Surely this youth will not serve our ends,' said I, 'for he weeps.' The old woman smiled. 'Past tears are present strength,' said she.

We've done a better job at getting more complete representation.

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- O, be thou then the first, the one thou art; be thou the calling, before all answering love, and in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.

Who can give a man this, his own name?

You may fancy the Lord had His own power to fall back upon. But that would have been to Him just the one dreadful thing. That His Father should forget him! -- no power in Himself could make up for that. He feared nothing for Himself; and never once employed His divine power to save Himself from His human fate. Let God do that for Him if He saw fit. He did not come into the world to take care of Himself... His life was of no value to Him but as His Father cared for it. God would mind all that was necessary for Him, and He would mind the work His Father had given Him to do. And, my friends, this is just the one secret of a blessed life, the one thing every man comes into this world to learn.

Two people may be at the same spot in manners and behavior, and yet one may be getting better, and the other worse, which is the greatest of differences that could possibly exist between them.

What a good thing, for instance, it was that one princess should sleep for a hundred years! Was she not saved from all the plague of young men who were not worthy of her? And did not she come awake exactly at the right moment when the right prince kissed her? For my part, I cannot help wishing a good many girls would sleep till just the same fate overtook them. It would be happier for them, and more agreeable to their friends.

When I look into the blue sky, it seems so deep, so peaceful, so full of a mysterious tenderness that I could lie for centuries, and wait for the dawning of the face of God out of the awful loving-kindness.

Whose work is it but your own to open your eyes? But indeed the business of the universe is to make such a fool out of you that you will know yourself for one, and begin to be wise.

You must learn to be strong in the dark as well as in the day, else you will always be only half brave.

Until a man has love, it is well he should have fear. So long as there are wild beasts about, it is better to be afraid than secure.

What a man is lies as certainly upon his countenance as in his heart, though none of his acquaintances may be able to read it. The very intercourse with him may have rendered it more difficult.

When I trouble myself over a trifle, even a trifle confessed -- the loss of some little article, say -- spurring my memory, and hunting the house, not from immediate need, but from dislike of loss; when a book has been borrowed of me and is not returned, and I have forgotten the borrower; and fret over the missing volume, ... is it not time that I lost a few things, when I care for them so unreasonably? This losing of things is the mercy of God: it comes to teach us to let them go. Or have I forgotten a thought that came to me, which seemed of the truth? I keep trying and trying to call it back, feeling a poor man until that thought be recovered -- to be far more lost, perhaps, in a notebook into which I shall never look again to find it! I forget that it is live things that God cares about.

Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call reality? -- Not so grand or so strong, it may be, but always lovelier? Fair as is the gliding sloop on the shining sea, the wavering, trembling, unresting sail below is fairer still...All mirrors are magic mirrors. The commonest room is a room in a poem when I turn to the glass...There must be a truth involved in it, though we may but in part lay hold of the meaning.

You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it himself.

Until we love the Lord so as to do what He tells us, we have no right to an opinion about what one of those men meant; for all they wrote is about things beyond us. The simplest woman who tries not to judge her neighbor, or not to be anxious for the morrow, will better know what is best to know, than the best-read bishop without that one simple outgoing of his highest nature in the effort to do the will of Him who thus spoke.

What can money do to console a man with a headache?

When the agony of death was over, when the storm of the world died away behind His retiring spirit, and He entered the regions where there is only life, and therefore all that is not music is silence.

Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call the reality?—not so grand or so strong, it may be, but always lovelier?

You would not think any duty small, if you yourself were great.

Author Picture
First Name
George
Last Name
MacDonald
Birth Date
1824
Death Date
1905
Bio

Scottish Author, Poet and Minister known for his fairy tales and fantasy works