Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold

by C.S. Lewis

I was like water put into a bottle and left in a cellar: utterly motionless, never to be drunk, poured out, spilled, or shaken. The days were endless. The very shadows seemed nailed to the ground as if the sun no longer moved.

In either race, for the love of men or the love of a god, the winners and losers are marked out from birth. We bring our ugliness, in both kinds, with us into the world, with it our destiny.