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The true Christian's nostril is to be continually attentive to the inner cesspool.

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
Christian
True
Nostril
Cesspool
Attentive
Continually
Inner

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He is not the soul of Nature, nor any part of Nature. He inhabits eternity: He dwells in a high and holy place: heaven is His throne, not his vehicle, earth is his footstool, not his vesture. One day he will dismantle both and make a new heaven and earth. He is not to be identified even with the 'divine spark' in man. He is 'God and not man.
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You know me better than you think, you know, and you shall know me better yet.
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The real problem is not why some pious, humble, believing people suffer, but why some do not.
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In a sense it (Christianity) creates, rather than solves, the problem of pain, for pain would be no problem unless side by side with our daily experience of this painful world, we had received what we think a good assurance that ultimate reality is righteousness and loving.
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We hear a great deal about the rudeness of the rising generation. I am an oldster myself and might be expected to take the oldsters' side, but in fact I have been far more impressed by the bad manners of parents to children than by those of children to parents.
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No good work is done anywhere without aid from the Father of Lights.
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God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.
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Authority exercised with humility, and obedience accepted with delight are the very lines along which our spirits live.
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The knight is a man of blood and iron, a man familiar with the sight of smashed faces and the ragged stumps of lopped-off limbs he is also a demure, almost a maidenlike, guest in hall, a gentle, modest, unobtrusive man. He is not a compromise or happy mean between ferocity and meekness he is fierce to the nth and meek to the nth.
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There seems to be hardly any one among my acquaintance from whom I have not learned.
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Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed.
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Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith but they are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can so take them, our share in the passion of Christ.
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Why should your heart not dance?
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You don’t think – not possibly – not as a mere hundredth chance – there might be things that are real though we can’t see them? … If there are souls, could there not be soul-houses?
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Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not 'So there's no God after all,' but 'So this is what God's really like. Deceive yourself no longer.
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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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Bad art is never really enjoyed in the same sense in which good art is enjoyed. It is only liked: it never startles, prostrates, and takes captive.
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Whatever you do, He will make good of it. But not the good He had prepared for you if you had obeyed him.
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The road to the promised land runs past Sinai.
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The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and seaweed, and the smell of the sea and long miles of bluish-green waves breaking for ever and ever on the beach. And oh, the cry of the seagulls! Have you ever heard it? Can you remember?
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