The Signature of All Things

by Elizabeth Gilbert

Recognizing all this, Alma’s existence at once felt bigger and much, much smaller—but a pleasant sort of smaller. The world had scaled itself down into endless inches of possibility. Her life could be lived in generous miniature.

“You come from a family of ministers, then?” “Indeed—and was meant to be one myself.” “What happened?” Alma asked, rather boldly. “Did you fall away from the Lord?” “No,” he said. “Quite the opposite. I fell too close to the Lord.”

He turned his light brown eyes upon her. He did look awfully weary. “Then I shall tell you, Miss Whittaker,” he said. “I would like never to travel again. I would like to spend the rest of my days in a place so silent—and working at a pace so slow—that I would be able to hear myself living.”

Sometimes beauty needs a bit of ignoring, to properly come into being.”

But for me, to experience life through mere reason is to feel about in the dark for God’s face while wearing heavy gloves. It is not enough only to study and depict and describe. One must sometimes . . . leap.”

I know this one thing to be true—that all we need for communion is our consent.

The most urgent war is always the one fought at home.