There is in the end no remedy but truth. It is the one course that cannot be evil.
I go to Prague every year if I can, value my relationships there like gold, and feel myself in a sense Czech, with all their hopes and needs. They are a people I not only love, but admire.
Truth is a hard master, and costly to serve, but it simplifies all problems.
If ever you do go back, what is it you want of Evesham?" "Do I know? [...] The silence, it might be ... or the stillness. To have no more running to do ... to have arrived, and have no more need to run. The appetite changes. Now I think it would be a beautiful thing to be still.
They sell courage of a sort in the taverns. And another sort, though not for sale, a man can find in the confessional. Try the alehouses and the churches, Hugh. In either a man can be quiet and think.
Youth is no less vulnerable, by the very quality it has of making the heart ache that beholds and has lost it.
What are wits for unless a man uses them?
Truth, like the burgeoning of a bulb under the soil, however deeply sown, will make its way to the light.
Beauty is a perilous gift.
Even a saint may take pleasure, in retrospect, in having been once desired
Death, after all, is the common expectation from birth. Neither heroes nor cowards can escape it.
To have faith in Divine protection is good, but even beter if backed by the pratical assistance heaven has a right to expect from sensible mortals.
I do believe I begin to grasp the nature of miracles! For would it be a miracle, if there was any reason for it? Miracles have nothing to do with reason. Miracles contradict reason, they strike clean across mere human deserts, and deliver and save where they will. If they made sense, they would not be miracles.
Bitter though it may be to many, Cadfael concluded, there is no substitute for truth, in this or any case.
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