Irregular Theology

As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy. Cometh white-robbed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love.

— George MacDonald, Phantastes (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), 67.  (via chary)

1. notcommongrace reblogged this from weareallpsyche
2. buttermellow reblogged this from weareallpsyche
3. weareallpsyche liked this
4. weareallpsyche reblogged this from aplace-of-delicatebeauty
5. aplace-of-delicatebeauty reblogged this from iwrite-in-cursive
6. mshedden reblogged this from chary
7. iammakingthisbecauseimbored reblogged this from chary
8. chary posted this