Lennon Young

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After Everyone's ...
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by Chris Cummings (Goodreads Author)
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The Perks of Bein...
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An American Tragedy
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  (page 22 of 896)
Feb 07, 2018 09:41AM

 
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Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
“Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.”
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Elie Wiesel
“Next to him lay his violin, trampled, an eerily poignant little corpse.”
Elie Wiesel, Night

Honoré de Balzac
“Some day you will find out that there is far more happiness in another's happiness than in your own.”
Honoré de Balzac, Père Goriot

Holly Black
“I love you like in the storybooks. I love you like in the ballads. I love you like a lightning bolt. I've loved you since the third month you came and spoke with me. I loved that you made me want to laugh. I loved the way you were kind and the way you would pause when you spoke, as though you were waiting for me to answer you. I love you and I am mocking no one when I kiss you, no one at all.”
Holly Black , The Darkest Part of the Forest
tags: love

Cassandra Clare
“She remembered when Will had died, her agony, the long nights alone, reaching across the bed every morning when she woke up, for eighty years expecting to find him there, and only slowly growing accustomed to the fact that that side of the bed would always be empty. The moments when she had found something funny and turned to share the joke with him, only to be shocked anew that he was not there. The worst moments, when, sitting alone at breakfast, she had realized that she had forgotten the precise blue of his eyes or the depth of his laugh; that like the sound of Jem's violin, they had faded into the distance where memories are silent.”
Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Princess

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