To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to 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.

— C.S. Lewis (via corona-borealis)

Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.

— C.S. Lewis (via drasticplastic)

If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.

— C.S. Lewis

(Source: dickensian)

We read to know that we are not alone.

— C.S. Lewis

(Source: dickensian)