From a letter to his father, on June 3, 1855:
How does dear mother bear it? It must be a dreadful trial to her. Life grows so sad sometimes — “but there is the one who makes the joy the last in every song” and no trial is too sad which makes us look more to the eternal love — the great sea on which all other loves are but the surface waves. None of us will live very long here, and then we shall go into the great unknown wondrous world, which so many of our dear friends know already, and where they are quietly awaiting our arrival.
– George MacDonald
Just a little flower, turning her face to find the sun. I don’t always feel his rays on me, but when I do, the warmth and the feeling is simply wonderful, and I never want to be in the shadows again. Isn’t he lovely?