Villain, elle?, Daniel Gibbons

I am a burning book, a book of flame:
pale letters glow on skin-thin ash
an instant as your hand crumbles cinders, same.

If a book burns in the forest, without reader or name,
Is it no book, a glob of marks?—In its pages stashed:
“I am a burning book, a book of flame!”

Can I remember Sarajevo, who to blame
for a snow of black pages, a tabernacle hammered into trash,
even for an instant as I crumble cinders, same?

Whether in Caesar’s, Theophilus’, or Omar’s name,
In the slow grace of towers crumbling under some Alexander’s lash,
I am a burning book, a book of flame.

When a human burns in the salt womb (who’s to blame?)
of history, who among us will cast the first penitent ash
from an infant’s hand that has crumbled into cinders—same?

Haunted into sterile rooms, who will sign their names?
In quiet abattoirs, over mute cries with no past—shhh…
“I am a burning book, a book of flame
an instant, until my hand crumbles… cinders…”

Wartime Christmas, Joyce Kilmer

Led by a star, a golden star,
The youngest star, an olden star,
Here the kings and the shepherds are,
Akneeling on the ground.
What did they come to the inn to see?
God in the Highest, and this is He,
A baby asleep on His mother's knee
And with her kisses crowned.

Now is the earth a dreary place,
A troubled place, a weary place.
Peace has hidden her lovely face
And turned in tears away.
Yet the sun, through the war-cloud, sees
Babies asleep on their mother's knees.
While there are love and home—and these—
There shall be Christmas Day.

Daylight, J.B. Toner

The sun!  A million bird-hymns split the skies,
    His crimson halo sanctifies the peaks,
    Flings green on grass and blue on babbling creeks,
The violets open dew-bespangled eyes,
The shadows spring away in swift surprise,
    Bright clouds rush outwards, galleons white and sleek,
    A merry day his golden beams bespeak,
And azure oriflammes proclaim his rise.
  The restless specters of the fearful night
    With elvish smiles unmask themselves as trees;
  The beauty of the earth, once hid from sight,
    Stands veilless, to be seen with joyful ease—
  And I who doubted God’s returning light
    Fall penitent and laughing to my knees.

Public Education, Rick Perry

Every child is entitled to a public education, but public education is not entitled to every child ~ Texas Governor Rick Perry

The Best for Us, C.S. Lewis

We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be. ~ C. S. Lewis

Lost, G.K. Chesterton

Man has always lost his way; but now he has lost his address. ~ G. K. Chesterton

Laughter, G.K. Chesterton

Alone among the animals, Man is shaken with the beautiful madness called laughter; as if he had caught sight of some secret in the very shape of the universe hidden from the universe itself. ~ G. K. Chesterton

Looking Down on Hell, G.K. Chesterton

It is not always wrong to go to the brink of the lowest promontory and look down on hell. It is when you look up at hell that a serious miscalculation has probably been made. ~ G. K. Chesterton

12 Ordinary Men, G.K. Chesterton

Our civilization has decided...that determining the guilt or innocence of men is a thing too important to be trusted to trained men. ...When it wishes anything done which is really serious, it collects twelve of the ordinary men standing around. The same thing was done, if I remember right, by the Founder of Christianity. ~ G. K. Chesterton

A Mystic Being, G.K. Chesterton

Man is a mystic being who cannot do what is expected of him; but can only do more than is expected of him. He can die in torments in the trenches for a rag on a pole; but he cannot keep his temper for twenty-four hours. ~ G. K. Chesterton

Feminists, G.K. Chesterton

Most feminists would probably agree with me that womanhood is under shameful tyranny in the shops and mills. But I want to destroy the tyranny. They want to destroy the womanhood. ~ G. K. Chesterton

Gloriously Surprised, G.K. Chesterton

Blessed is he who expecteth nothing, for he shall be gloriously surprised. ~ G. K. Chesterton

What You Can Handle, Mother Teresa

I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much. — Mother Teresa

Worries, Mary Crowley

Every evening I turn my worries over to God. He's going to be up all night anyway. — Mary C. Crowley

A Right, G.K. Chesterton

To have a right to do a thing is not at all the same as to be right in doing it. — G.K. Chesterton

The Christian Ideal, G.K. Chesterton

The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried. — GK Chesterton

Television, T.S. Eliot

The remarkable thing about television is that it permits several million people to laugh at the same joke and still feel lonely. — T.S. Eliot

Freedom, Dwight Eisenhower

If you want total security, go to prison. There you're fed, clothed, given medical care and so on. The only thing lacking . . . is freedom.

— Dwight Eisenhower

The Tale of Two Cities

"I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding."
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Second: The Golden Thread, Chapter 20: A Plea

"There is nothing more to do," said he, glancing upward at the moon, "until to-morrow. I can't sleep."
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 9: The Game Made

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die."
Now, that the streets were quiet and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 9: The Game Made

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."
-The Tale of Two Cities, Book the Third: The Track of a Storm, Chapter 15: The Footsteps Die Out For Ever