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Love is the great conqueror of lust.
C. S. Lewis
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C. S. Lewis
Age: 64 †
Born: 1898
Born: January 1
Died: 1963
Died: January 1
Autobiographer
Broadcaster
Essayist
Linguist
Literary Critic
Literary Historian
Literary Scholar
Medievalist
Novelist
Belfast
Ireland
Clive Hamilton
N. W. Clerk
CS Lewis
Clive Staples Lewis
C.S. Lewis
Great
Love
Conqueror
Lust
More quotes by C. S. Lewis
The real Oxford is a close corporation of jolly, untidy, lazy, good-for-nothing humorous old men, who have been electing their own successors ever since the world began and who intend to go on with it. They'll squeeze under the Revolution or leap over it when the time comes, don't you worry.
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But as long as you know you're nobody special, you'll be a very decent sort of Horse, on the whole, and taking one thing with another.
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He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand.
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A moderately bad man knows he is not very good: a thoroughly bad man thinks he is alright. This is common sense really. You understand sleep when you are awake, not well you are sleeping.
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I am often, I believe, praying for others when I should be doing things for them. It's so much easier to pray for a bore than to go and see him.
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God is the food our spirits were designed to feed on.
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The promise, made when I am in love, to be true to the beloved as long as I live, commits me to being true even if I cease to be in love.
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Love, in the Christian sense, does not mean an emotion. It is a state not of the feelings but of the will that state of the will which we have naturally about ourselves, and must learn to have about other people.
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If you find that the reader of popular romances--however uneducated a reader, however bad the romances--goes back to his old favourites again and again, then you have pretty good evidence that they are to him a sort of poetry.
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...the sun looks down on nothing half so good as a household laughing together over a meal, or two friends talking over a pint of beer, or a man alone reading a book that interests him... - C.S. Lewis: Weight of Glory
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In worship, God imparts himself to us.
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Man approaches God most nearly when he is in one sense least like God. For what can be more unlike than fullness and need, sovereignty and humility, righteousness and penitence, limitless power and a cry for help?
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The incalculable winds of fantasy and music and poetry, the mere face of a girl, the song of a bird, or the sight of a horizon, are always blowing evil’s whole structure away.
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Relying on God has to begin all over again every day as if nothing had yet been done.
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To enter heaven is to become more human than you ever succeeded in being on earth to enter hell is to be banished from humanity. What is cast (or casts itself) into hell is not a man: it is 'remains.'
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No mind is so good that it does not need another mind to counter and equal it, and to save it from conceit and bigotry and folly
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Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call humble nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is a nobody. Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him.
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Aren't all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won't accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?
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I thought I could describe a state make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state, but a process. It needs not a map, but a history, and if I don't stop writing that history at some quite arbitrary point, there's no reason why I should ever stop.
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It would be nice and fairly nearly true, to say that 'from that time forth, Eustace was a different boy.' To be strictly accurate, he began to be a different boy. He had relapses. There were still many days when he could be very tiresome. But most of those I shall not notice. The cure had begun.
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