Mistlight Quotes

“The world is perishing, and everything in it. I do not know its end, but I know this body is perishing. It is not my body, not really. I inhabit it, but it was given to me. The only thing about it that is not perishing is…me. Every year, my body continues to age, and yet the part that is me finds that odd. I can well imagine this body failing, more parts of it growing achy each year. But the part that is truly me is merely carried around inside it. That part wonders how this body has gotten as old as it has. That part…is it arrogant to feel that that part of me is eternal? Aging and dying seem so foreign to it. When this body perishes, what will happen to the eternal part of me? I suppose someday I shall see. The first time I heard the phrase “Everything is perishing,” it depressed me. If it is true, what is the point of life? But that was a child’s question. A child cannot see the value of the work itself.”
― J.A. Andrews, Mistlight

“But snow! It’s like magic falling from the sky.”
― J.A. Andrews, Mistlight

“The world is perishing, and everything in it. I do not know its end, but I know this body is perishing. It is not my body, not really. I inhabit it, but it was given to me. The only thing about it that is not perishing is…me. Every year, my body continues to age, and yet the part that is me finds that odd. I can well imagine this body failing, more parts of it growing achy each year. But the part that is truly me is merely carried around inside it. That part wonders how this body has gotten as old as it has. That part…is it arrogant to feel that that part of me is eternal? Aging and dying seem so foreign to it. When this body perishes, what will happen to the eternal part of me? I suppose someday I shall see. The first time I heard the phrase “Everything is perishing,” it depressed me. If it is true, what is the point of life? But that was a child’s question. A child cannot see the value of the work itself. I was given a hand, not to keep it for all eternity, but as a tool. Would I use it to write? To build? Tear apart? Brutalize? Nurture? It might be dexterous or strong, but how can I boast of either? Certainly, I can train it, but at its base, it is something that was given to me. It deserves neither my pride nor my shame. There is a fear that drained away from me when I understood that everything is perishing. I do not have to frantically scramble to save it. Not in a nihilistic way. I am not content merely to let others suffer and die. In many”
― J.A. Andrews, Mistlight