Andrew Peterson Quotes

And it's been so long since most of our boys have sailed they hardly know a poop deck from a chamber pot!

Kalmar nodded. "I'm sorry, Papa. I wasn't strong enough."
"None of us are, lad. Me least of all." Esben smiled and took a rattling breath. "But it's weakness that the Maker turns to strength. Your fur is why you alone loved a dying cloven. You alone in all the world knew my need and ministered to my wounds." Esben pulled Kalmar closer and kissed him on the head. "And in my weakness, I alone know your need. Hear me, son. I loved you when you were born. I loved you when I wept in the Deeps of Throg. I loved you even as you sang the song that broke you. And I love you now in the glory of your humility. You're more fit to be the king than I ever was. Do you understand?"
Kalmar shook his head.
Esben smiled and shuddered with pain. "A good answer, my boy. Then do you believe that I love you?"
"Yes, sir. I believe you." Kalmar buried his face in his father's fur.
"Remember that in the days to come. Nia, Janner, Leeli - help him to remember.

Anger and bitterness are normal feelings, but they're like cancer if you can't control them.

When children say it's time to leave, they mean, "It's time to leave." When grownups say so, they really mean, "It's time to begin thinking about leaving sometime in the near future.

All I know is that I was blind, but now I see; that though I kick and scream, love is leading me. And every step of the way His grace is making me. With every breath I breathe, He is saving me. And I believe.

..through you will call forth praise from lonesome travelers long after your name is forgotten. They will know someone lived and loved here.

'Whoever they were,' they will think, 'they belonged to God. It's clear that they believed the stories of Jesus were true, and it gave them a hope that made their lives beautiful in ways that will unfold for ages among the linnea that shimmers in the moonlit woods.

The gospel gives me hope, and hope is not a language the dark voices understand.

There's just something about the way he sings. It makes me think of when it snows outside, and the fire is warm, and Podo is telling us a story while you're cooking, and there's no place I'd rather be
but for some reason I still feel ... homesick.

He wondered what book he might be reading when he finally breathed his last, and determined to grab a good one as soon as he sensed the end coming so that whoever discovered him would know he had a good taste in literature.

Love runs stronger than blood. Deeper than any name you could give me. - Maraly

That evil was a nameless evil, an evil whose name was Gnag the Nameless.

When you run out of hope, everything is backwards. Your heart wants the opposite of what it needs.

Podo and Leeli finally came back to where the others rested, and though her face still bore the weight of her sorrow, Janner could see that is sister was present. Her eyes didn't see stare into nothing. They saw the situation, grieved for it, and faced it.

Before roaring over Fingap Falls, the River Blapp was wide and peaceful, clear as a spring, and the fish to be caught there were both delicious and docile, except for the many fish that were poisonous to the touch, and the daggerfish that were known to leap into boats and impale the stoutest fisherman.

He means to make his subjects merciful and wise; sorrow and struggle bringeth both. We will, he tells me, grow by grieving, live by dying, love by losing. The heart itself is the field of battle and the garden green.

It was as if a strand connected that day with this one and the Maker's pleasure was coursing through it like blood in a vein.

Moved through the days in peace and wonder, for his whole story had been told for the first time, and he found that he was still loved.

We're in the Maker's keeping. Even if we die trying, death is just another way out. But you? You'll just turn to dust.

When we manage to make something pretty, it's only because we are ourselves a flourish on a greater canvas.

when you forgive someone, it doesn't diminish or erase what was done to you. You don't have to understand why they did it, and you certainly don't have to be on friendly terms with someone who's hurt you. When you forgive someone, you're doing it to release their debt to you." "Debt?" "Yes, you're moving on with your life and you don't require anything from the person who hurt you.

A book is made up of sentences and paragraphs, and one look at the bookstore shelves should be enough to tell anyone that quality of writing is no prerequisite for being published.

I tell you, old friend, I'd rather be stuck here in a Strander burrow than blowing smoke rings in Glipwood, where the Fangs spit and howl and kill our spirits. At least we're here because we choose to be. We're here out of bravery and not cowardice.

Sorry, lass. Ye have to seize the teachable moments, you know. Carry on.

But I don't want to be the Throne Warden," Janner said with all the bitterness he could muster.
"I understand," Nia said. Janner had planned to send her over the edge with that comment, but she didn't seem surprised.
"Sometimes I don't want to be queen. But what I want doesn't change what I am.

Lad, it's one thing to be poor in pocket - nothing wrong with that. But poor in heart - that's no good.

Here I sit in the presence of queens and heroes and magic. Yes, magic. It is only when we have grown too old that we fail to see that the Maker's world is swollen with magic – it hides in plain sight in music and water and even bumblebees

Well "I do" are the two most famous last words. The beginning of the end. But to lose your life for another I've heard is a good place to begin.

Toppling face first into a neat, fresh pile of Danny the carthorse's nuggets.

True happiness comes from helping others who are less fortunate than you. It comes from doing the right thing. Nothing else works.

Beautiful." "And scary," Sara said. "It's not scary at all," said Artham with a laugh. He ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped. The others gasped and then fell into nervous laughter as he spread his wings and soared out over the water.

A thing resounds when it rings true, Ringing all the bells inside of you, Like a golden sky on a summer eve Your heart is tugging at your sleeve, And you cannot say why ... There must be more

How many times did a wicked man come to power and suddenly find his kingdom too small?

Everywhere Janner looked, there were ropes, poles, platforms, and a thousand other ways to break an arm or a leg. It was beautiful.

Love is not a feeling in your chest; it is bending down to wash another's feet.

He felt a quiet pride about the road he had traveled with this old pack ... He may be scarred and worn in places, but like his pack, he believed he was better for it.

It pains me, my dear," I said with a distinct emotional warble in my throat, "to be forced to choose between you and the quest for the buzzard's bellybutton." I calculated my words to demonstrate the depth of my affection and the full weight of my courage. I hung my head dramatically (but sincerely!) and said, "I choose the crusty navel." Truly, her heart broke to see me go.

I am convinced that poets are toddlers in a cathedral, slobbering on wooden blocks and piling them up in the light of the stained glass. We can hardly make anything beautiful that wasn't beautiful in the first place. We aren't writers, but gleeful rearrangers of words whose meanings we can't begin to know. When we manage to make something pretty, it's only so because we are ourselves a flourish on a greater canvas. That means there's no end to the discovery. We may crawl around the cathedral floor for ages before we grow up enough to reach the doorknob and walk outside into a garden of delights. Beyond that, the city, then the rolling hills, then the sea. And when the world of every cell has been limned and painted and sung, we lie back on the grass, satisfied that our work is done. Then, of course, the sun sets and we see above us the dark dome of glittering stars.

On and on it goes, all the way to the lightless borderlands of time and space, which we come to discover in some future age are but the beginnings or endings of a single word spoken from the mouth of God. Some nights, while I traipse down the hill, I imagine that word isn't a word at all, but a burst of laughter.

missile frigate that's rolling and pitching is just as

It is no small thing to be a Throne Warden of Anniera. They have been sung about by bards for a thousand years and are accorded a place of honor like no other kingdom - like no other king - in the world - not because they're lords, but because they're servants.

Kalmar opened his eyes, and they were clear and blue.

That doesn't mean it isn't true. The Shining Isle exists as surely as the floor you're standing on. It may be hard to believe, but it'sreal, I tell you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, the sun can seem like it was only ever a dream. We need something to remind us that it still exists, even if we can't see it. We need something beautiful hanging in the dark sky to remind us there is such a thing as daylight. Sometimes, Queen Sara" - Armulyn strummed his whistleharp - "music is the moon.

I don't know what's wrong with me." I said with a sniffle. "My brother and sisters don't seem to carry this same pain, and we were all there at the same time, in the same house." Al said, "If I were to interview four siblings about their childhoods, they would each describe a completely different family." Your story, then, is yours and no one else's. Each sunset is different, depending on where you stand.

So he held her and he prayed. Shafts of moonlight on his face. But the baby in her womb, He was the maker of the moon. He was the author of the fate that could make the mountains move.

Blood was shed that you three might breathe the good air of life, and if that means you have to miss out on a Zibzy game, then so be it. Part of being a man is putting others' needs before your own.

Gnag bends things for breaking, and the Maker makes a flourish! Evil digs a pit, and the Maker makes a well! That is his way.

See how the questions of career choices and demo CDs and relocating diminish in the light of God's Kingdom?
Sail by the stars, not the flotsam.

He was only twelve, but he knew enough to realize that the way before him would be hard. Is it worth it? he asked himself. Was it worth losing his old life in order to learn the truth of who he was and who he was becoming?
Yes.
Like the pluck of a stringed instrument, the first edge of the sun broke loose and poured light over the world.

Winter is where hope lies happy.

I'm too angry at you to let you die.

He wanted to be alone, and he wanted to be found.

Eric Peters is a chronicler of his journey; he's been a faithful steward of the story God is telling through him, and this newest chapter, BiRDS OF RELOCATiON, is Eric's testimony that along the way there are moments of deep joy and gratitude-they may seem brief, but they're bright, and they're worth singing about. The joy I hear on this record heralds a long and welcome peace.

Artham felt lighter and stronger, and for the first time in nine years, his mind was clear and sure. The words to a hundred of his own poems scrolled across his memory; he saw faces of old friends, battles he had fought, and even the most terrible moments of his life - and yet he remained himself. The wild animal inside that he had struggled so long to kill pulsed with power, but it was no longer his master. He rode the pain like a knight rides a horse. ...
Artham's eyes watered from the wind and from the speed and from the magnificent beauty of the land arrayed below him. Water streaked from the corners of his eyes ... and , in the vicious cold froze into silvery jewels.
He would have to write a poem about this.

But other than the cruel fangs and the constant threat of death and torture, there wasn't much to fear in Skree.

But to lose your life for another I've heard is a good place to begin
Cause the only way to find your life is to lay your own life down
And I believe it's an easy price for the life that we have found

She turned around and said, "Is there anything I can do?"
It was the only thing she could have said that he couldn't answer with anger, which frustrated Janner even more. If she had asked what was wrong, he would have hurled a perfectly sassy reply right back at her. If she had told him to cheer up, he would have grouched something about how cheery he'd be if he had played with puppies all day. If she had tried to be silly to cheer him up, he would have barked that he was sorry he wasn't in the mood for games.
But "Is there anything I can do?" poured cool water on his fire. It told him that she cared. It told him that she saw he needed something, even if she didn't know what. It told him that she hurt with him.