I really can't tell what's beautiful anymore. I passed two young fellows on the street the other day. I know who they are, they work at the garage. They're not churchgoing, either one of them, just decent rascally young fellows who have to be joking all the time, and there they were, propped against the garage wall in the sunshine, lighting up their cigarettes. They're always so black with grease and so strong with gasoline I don't know why they don't catch fire themselves. They were passing remarks back and forth the way they do and laughing that wicked way they have. And it seemed beautiful to me. It is an amazing thing to watch people laugh, the way it sort of takes them over.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Another Gilead Passage
I have to copy another passage from Gilead because it's such a remarkable book. John Ames, knowing the end of his life is near, finds beauty in nearly everything. Mere existence is beautiful. Here's an example from early in the novel that I loved: