The stars are far brighter
Then gems without measure,
The moon is far whiter
Than silver in treasure:
The fire is more shining
On hearth in the gloaming
Than gold won by mining,
So why go a-roaming?
from The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien
19 notes (via threeacresandacrow & philosophicalmeandering)
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.
2,321 notes (via chasingtailfeathers)
Christ is life, the source of life, the source of joy, the source of true light, everything. Whoever loves Christ and other people truly lives life. Life without Christ is death; it is hell, not life. That is what hell is – the absence of love. Life is Christ. Love is the life of Christ. Either you will be in life or death. It is up to you to decide.
One thing is our aim – love for Christ, for the Church, for our neighbor. Love, worship of, and craving for God, the union with Christ and with the Church is Paradise on earth. Love towards Christ and towards one’s neighbor, towards everyone, including enemies. The Christian feels for everyone, he wants all to be saved, all to taste the Kingdom of God. That is Christianity: through love of our brother to arrive at love for God. To the extent that we desire it, to the extent that we wish it, to the extent that we are worthy, divine grace comes through our brother. When we love our brother we love the Church and therefore Christ. And we too are within the Church. Therefore when we love the Church we love ourselves.
7 notes (via greluc & jcassian)
Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)
Vase with Asters and Phlox, 1886. Oil on canvas.
209 notes (via birdsong217)
Am I no longer young,
and still not half-perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still
and learning to be astonished.
–Mary Oliver, excerpt from her poem “Messenger.”
107 notes (via chasingtailfeathers & parabola-magazine)
Unfortunately I am afraid, as always, of going on. For to go on means going from here, means finding me, losing me, vanishing and beginning again, a stranger first, then little by little the same as always, in another place, where I shall say I have always been, of which I shall know nothing, being incapable of seeing, moving, thinking, speaking, but of which little by little, in spite of these handicaps, I shall begin to know something, just enough for it to turn out to be the same place as always, the same which seems made for me and does not want me, which I seem to want and do not want, take your choice, which spews me out or swallows me up, I’ll never know, which is perhaps merely the inside of my distant skull where once I wandered, now am fixed, lost for tininess, or straining against the walls, with my head, my hands, my feet, my back, and ever murmuring my old stories, my old story, as if it were the first time.
717 notes (via pavorst & rabbitinthemoon)
La Divine Bergère
Mary as the Divine Shepherdess in the basilica of Notre-Dame de Brebières (Our Lady of the Shepherds) in Albert, France.
43 notes (via greluc & allaboutmary)
Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.
34 notes (via thecatholicgirl)
It is legitimate and necessary to ask oneself if this is not perhaps part of a new ideology of evil, perhaps more insidious and hidden, which attempts to pit human rights against the family and against man.
10 notes (via greluc & thatcatholicguy)