Love is Holy

From George MacDonald’s lecture on ‘King Lear,’ regarding Cordelia’s response when asked to declare her love for her father in

order to inherit a portion of his kingdom:

“She loved her father far too much to be able to tell it out in that fashion. Even the best things she could say would have been as nothing compared with their eager protestations. Love is not to be measured by a dictionary. Love is holy, and loving hearts cannot lay themselves out for the asking. We don’t want to hear our children speak of their love; the look, the manner, the action–these are the language of the heart.”

– George MacDonald

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To Love Perfectly

“Thou dost demand our love, holy Lord Christ,

And batest nothing of thy modesty;—

Thou know’st no other way to bliss the highest

Than loving thee, the loving, perfectly.

Thou lovest perfectly—that is thy bliss:

We must love like thee, or our being miss—

So, to love perfectly, love perfect Love, love thee.”

“Here is my heart, O Christ; thou know’st I love thee.

But wretched is the thing I call my love.

O Love divine, rise up in me and move me—

I follow surely when thou first dost move.

To love the perfect love, is primal, mere

Necessity; and he who holds life dear,

Must love thee every hope and heart above.”

George MacDonald, The Diary of an Old Soul

Love is Life

“But love is life. To die of love is then

The only pass to higher life than this.

All love is death to loving, living men;

All deaths are leaps across clefts to the abyss.

Our life is the broken current, Lord, of thine,

Flashing from morn to morn with conscious shine—

Then first by willing death self-made, then life divine.”

Excerpt From

A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

George MacDonald

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-book-of-strife-in-the-form-of-the-diary-of-an-old-soul/id499797732?mt=11

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Victor Hugo, on Love

You can give without loving, but you can never love without giving. The great acts of love are done by those who are habitually performing small acts of kindness. We pardon to the extent that we love. Love is knowing that even when you are alone, you will never be lonely again. The great happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved. Loved for ourselves. & even loved in spite of ourselves.

– Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

To Love is to Be Vulnerable

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

—C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves