Christine > Christine's Quotes

“...the greater part or my spring happiness is due to the scent of the wet earth and young leaves.
I am always happy (out of doors be it understood, for indoors there are servants and furniture), but in quite different ways, and my spring happiness bears no resemblance to my summer or autumn happiness, though it is not more intense, and there were days last winter when I danced for sheer joy out in my frost-bound garden in spite of my years and children. But I did it behind a bush, having a due regard for the decencies.”
― Elizabeth von Arnim, Elizabeth and Her German Garden

“...as Parson Hawthyn says on receiving the gift of a book in The White Witch: "You give me great wealth, for the gift of a book is the gift of a human soul. Men put their souls in their books."
The soul in the books of Elizabeth Goudge reached out to readers worldwide and surely made of her, not merely a romantic novelist but one of the great Christian writers of the twentieth century.”
― Christine Rawlins, Beyond the Snow: The Life and Faith of Elizabeth Goudge

“...there is a constant theme at the centre of all her writings which forms the heart of her vision of God, From her earliest novel to the mature vision of her autobiography, the central importance of unity, reconciliation, one-ness, is reiterated; for she came increasingly to see everything in life, even the darkness of fear and pain and suffering, as part of the one perfect whole that is Creation, that tiny hazelnut of Dame Julian's vision that was all that is made.”
― Christine Rawlins, A Vision of God

“...To search for colours, fumble for words,
Strive to catch in earthly song
The echo of greater music,
To fail with heartbreak and give
The heartbreaks to each other with our love,
Can this be why we live?”
― Elizabeth Goudge, A Vision of God

“[He] looked exactly like Michael's idea of Don Quixote, 'the luminary and mirror of all knight-errantry', and for that gentle and melancholy knight Michael had always had the greatest affection. Indeed, he was almost his favourite character in literature . . . And he had been created by a man in prison . . . The thought of the great Cervantes, 'the maimed perfection', and of his sufferings so triumphantly endured, was one of the things that had helped to keep him sane many times, he imagined. He was young enough to believe that men go mad, that men die, more easily than in fact they do. He put the point where endurance is no longer possible at a reasonable distance along the way, not at that distant point where John could have told him that it does in fact exist.”
― Elizabeth Goudge, The Rosemary Tree

“Let us presume that Barchester is a quiet town in the West of England, more remarkable for the beauty of its cathedral and the antiquity of its monuments than for any commercial prosperity; that the west end of Barchester is the cathedral close, and that the aristocracy of Barchester are the bishop, dean, and canons, with their respective wives and daughters.”
― Anthony Trollope, The Warden

“Jocelyn, as the bus rolled along, looked across a space of green grass, elm-bordered, to the grey mass of the Cathedral. Its towers rose four-square against the sky and the wide expanse of the west front, rising like a precipice, was crowded with sculptured figures... About them the rooks were beating slowly and over their heads the bells were ringing for five o'clock evensong...
To his left, on the opposite side of the road to the Cathedral, was another, smaller mass of grey masonry, the Deanery, and in front of him was a second archway.
Once through it they were in a discreet road bordered on each side with gracious old houses standing back in walled gardens. Here dwelt the Canons of the Cathedral with their respective wives and families, and the few elderly ladies of respectable antecedents, blameless life and orthodox belief who were considered worthy to be on intimate terms with them.”
― Elizabeth Goudge, A City of Bells

“There is a song within us all. I know this now because in the long silences of the open ocean I have heard it. It resounds. It is perpetual. It cannot be ignored. It is sweet. You can try to dismiss it, but it is more forceful than you are; it can drive you in ways of which you will not be conscious, for it is setting the tempo of your life even more strongly than the beat of your heart. Over time its volume will vary: one minute shrill, whispering the next. Yet it remains and is all-powerful”
― Paul Heiney, One Wild Song: A Voyage in a Lost Son's Wake