It’s almost as if there’s a contradiction in terms between the glories of the early English spring and this season of Covid19 horror and fear.
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William Blake (1757-1827) was one of a kind. A printer, an illustrator, a painter, a poet, a visionary, a provocateur. And that’s just the start
This is Holy Saturday. It’s an in-between day, a limbo. It is deeply unsettling, especially if you need your world to be categorisable, identifiable, graspable.
It is Good Friday so the subject matter for the day’s reading presented itself easily enough. Choosing what to read, however, was a very different
For this Maundy Thursday, here’s a favourite purple passage. If I’d been on the ball, I would have obviously put the Alan Paton passage tonight.
I know little about Christopher Smart (1722-1771), apart from the fact that the suffered the torments, like his almost contemporary William Cowper, of an eighteenth-century
Today’s reading is neither poetry nor fiction but is prose of a different sort. It is one of C. S. Lewis’s great essays, one which