George Macdonald Quotes

Quotes tagged as "george-macdonald" Showing 1-24 of 24
George MacDonald
“The best thing you can do for your fellow, next to rousing his conscience, is — not to give him things to think about, but to wake things up that are in him; or say, to make him think things for himself.”
George MacDonald, A Dish of Orts

Madeleine L'Engle
“George MacDonald gives me renewed strength during times of trouble--times when I have seen people tempted to deny God--when he says, "The Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like his.”
Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art

George MacDonald
“I knew now, that it is by loving, and not by being loved, that one can come nearest the soul of another; yea, that, where two love, it is the loving of each other, and not the being loved by each other, that originates and perfects and assures their blessedness. I knew that love gives to him that loveth, power over any soul beloved...”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“The love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self, where we mope and mow, striking sparks, and rubbing phosphorescences out of the walls, and blowing our own breath in our own nostrils, instead of issuing to the fair sunlight of God, the sweet winds of the universe.”
George MacDonald

George MacDonald
“Ere long, I learned that it was not myself, but only my shadow, that I had lost. I learned that it is better, a thousand-fold, for a proud man to fall and be humbled, than to hold up his head in his pride and fancied innocence. I learned that he that will be a hero, will barely be a man; that he that will be nothing but a doer of his work, is sure of his manhood.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“I do not write for children, but for the childlike, whether of five, or fifty, or seventy-five.”
George MacDonald

George MacDonald
“My soul was like a summer evening, after a heavy fall of rain, when the drops are yet glistening on the trees in the last rays of the down-going sun, and the wind of the twilight has begun to blow.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shorewards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and miles in both directions. There was nothing for the eye but mingling shades of gray; nothing for the ear but the rush of the coming, the roar of the breaking, and the moan of the retreating wave.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Ah, let a man beware, when his wishes, fulfilled, rain down upon him, and his happiness is unbounded.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Foolish is the man, and there are many such men, who would rid himself or his fellows of discomfort by setting the world right, by waging war on the evils around him, while he neglects that integral part of the world where lies his business, his first business, namely, his own character and conduct.”
George MacDonald, Hope of the Gospel

George MacDonald
“And Summer, dear Summer, hath years of June,
With large white clouds, and cool showers at noon;
And a beauty that grows to a weight like grief,
Till a burst of tears is the heart’s relief.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Sweet sounds can go where kisses may not enter.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Then I remembered that night is the fairies’ day, and the moon their sun; and I thought—Everything sleeps and dreams now: when the night comes, it will be different.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“A ghost grew out of the shadowy air,
And sat in the midst of her moony hair.

In her gleamy hair she sat and wept;
In the dreamful moon they lay and slept;

The shadows above, and the bodies below,
Lay and slept in the moonbeams slow.

And she sang, like the moan of an autumn wind
Over the stubble left behind.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Many a wrong, and it's curing song,
many a road, and many an inn,
Room to roam, but only one home,
for all the world to win.

George MacDonald, (Lilith)”
george macdonald

George MacDonald
“Twilight-kind, oppressing the heart as with a condensed atmosphere of dreamy undefined love and longing.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“It was evening. The sun was below the horizon; but his rosy beams yet illuminated a feathery cloud, that floated high above the world. I arose, I reached the cloud; and, throwing myself upon it, floated with it in sight of the sinking sun. He sank, and the cloud grew gray; but the grayness touched not my heart. It carried its rose-hue within; for now I could love without needing to be loved again.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Thy beauty filleth the very air,
Never saw I a woman so fair.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“Or, if needing years to wake thee
From thy slumbrous solitudes,
Come, sleep-walking, and betake thee
To the friendly, sleeping woods.

Sweeter dreams are in the forest,
Round thee storms would never rave;
And when need of rest is sorest,
Glide thou then into thy cave.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“It is not the hysterical alone for whom the great dash of cold water is good.
All who dream life, instead of living it,
require some similar shock.”
George MacDonald, Complete Works of George MacDonald

George MacDonald
“From Eden’s bowers the full-fed rivers flow,
To guide the outcasts to the land of woe:
Our Earth one little toiling streamlet yields.
To guide the wanderers to the happy fields.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“And we had met at last in this same cave of greenery, while the summer night hung round us heavy with love, and the odours that crept through the silence from the sleeping woods were the only signs of an outer world that invaded our solitude.”
George MacDonald

George MacDonald
“I might here find the magic word of power to banish the demon and set me free, so that I should no longer be a man beside myself.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes

George MacDonald
“I forced my way to the brink, stepped into the boat, pushed it, with the help of the tree-branches, out into the stream, lay down in the bottom, and let my boat and me float whither the stream would carry us.”
George MacDonald, Phantastes