Reason for Rapture


Anyone who is not lost in rapturous awe
at the power and glory of the mind
behind the universe is as good as
a burnt out candle.

–Albert Einstein


Sublime Artistry

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What angels invented these splendid ornaments,
these rich conveniences, this ocean of air above,
this ocean of water beneath, this firmament of earth between?
this zodiac of lights, this tent of dropping clouds,
this striped coat of climates, this fourfold year?

–Ralph Waldo Emerson

Miraculous World


The real miracle is not getting healed or surviving an accident but living with five senses on a planet where we experience strawberries, hummingbirds, sunsets, waterfalls, penguins, butterflies, ice cream, romance, roses, humor, chocolate, wine, kittens, coffee, and tropical beaches. Einstein got it right: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is.”

–J.O. Schulz

Heaven’s Encore


A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore.

–G. K. Chesterton,

Missing the Message

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One of the deepest and strangest of all human moods is the mood which will suddenly strike us perhaps in a garden at night, or deep in sloping meadows, the feeling that every flower and leaf has just uttered something stupendously direct and important, and that we have by a prodigy of imbecility not heard or understood it. There is a certain poetic value, and that a genuine one, in this sense of having missed the full meaning of things. There is beauty, not only in wisdom, but in this dazed and dramatic ignorance.

– G. K. Chesterton