Books are like treasure-houses, spanned with room after room of contrasting but equaly magnitzing outlay and decor. Some are intriguing in their imagination-stirring newness, others are dark and noble, deep with recesses of inspiration and others are comfortable like a meal with old friends or the put-on feel of my favorite winter jacket. But my favorite books include all the rooms in a mesmerizing seemless tour. Such is the first of the Mitford Series: At Home in Mitford by Jan Karon. A yarn about a batchelor rector in a village. I'll include some conversational jewels.
"When it comes to feeding his sheep, I'm afraid my sermons are about as nourishing as cardboard."
"Are you resting?"
"Resting?"
"Resting. Sometimes we get so worm out with being usefeul that we get useless. I'll ask you what another preacher once asked: Are you too exhausted to run and too scared to rest?"
"That man is the' richest whose pleasures are th' cheapest!"
"...telling a lie is like eating peanuts. One leads to another. In no time at all, you've gone through a bag full...worst of all you become a slave to something that isn't real."
"I've learned not to live on any promises other than God's..."
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