I'm a bit late here, but I couldn't let the birthdays of my two favorite authors go by without acknowledging it.
November 29, 1898:
C.S. Lewis.
(Clive Staples Lewis, but many called him Jack.)
I think that if I could study under an imperfect human being (that is, any human other than Jesus) it would the this guy.
He was brilliant.
"The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."
-C.S. Lewis.
It makes me happy to think that he's seen it now. He's found the flower, heard the tune, and lives in that country.
November 30, 1874:
L.M. Montgomery.
(Lucy Maud Montgomery. She went by Maud.)
Author of my favorite series of all time: Anne of Green Gables. I've yet to read a book by her that I don't like.
We actually just started reading Anne of Green Gables as a family. She has a way of wrapping up magic in words and putting it on the page in a way that sends a certain kind of loveliness into the very depths of my soul and makes me feel as if I were flying--in a strange, wonderful sort of way.
Every time I open up those Anne books, finger the pages and smell of them, and read just the first few lines, I feel as if I've come home. It's a familiar place that I'll never tire of.
“Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?"
-Anne Shirley (L.M. Montgomery)
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