A Morbid Taste for Bones (Chronicles of Brother Cadfael #1)

by Ellis Peters

When you have done everything else, perfecting a conventual herb-garden is a fine and satisfying thing to do.

“God resolves all given time,” said Cai philosophically and trudged away into darkness. And Cadfael returned along the path with the uncomfortable feeling that God, nevertheless, required a little help from men, and what he mostly got was hindrance.

He had the voice that might have been expected from him, large, melodious and deep, a voice that sang what it felt, and waited for thought afterwards, to find that the thought had been there already in the feeling.

“I never could see why a man can’t reverence his favourite saint without wanting to fondle her bones, but there’s great rivalry for such relics among the abbeys these days.

Meet every man as you find him, for we’re all made the same under habit or robe or rags. Some better made than others, and some better cared for, but on the same pattern all.

At Brother John’s age he would have detested him, but Cadfael was old, experienced and grown tolerant.

He prayed as he breathed, forming no words and making no specific requests, only holding in his heart, like broken birds in cupped hands, all those people who were in stress or in grief because of this little saint, for if he suffered like this for their sake, how much more must she feel for them?

I think there are some who live on a knife-edge in the soul, and at times are driven to hurl themselves into the air, at the mercy of heaven or hell which way to fall.”

and if God aids me with some new thought—for never forget God is far more deeply offended even than you or I by this great wrong!

It’s a kind of arrogance to be so certain you’re past redemption.”

“Stand by him in his penance, but never try to excuse his sin, and he’ll think the better of you for it.”

“Both men and women partake of the same human nature, Huw. We both bleed when we’re wounded. That’s a poor, silly woman, true, but we can show plenty of poor, silly men. There are women as strong as any of us, and as able.”

Miracles have nothing to do with reason. Miracles contradict reason, they strike clean across mere human deserts, and deliver and save where they will. If they made sense, they would not be miracles,