Thoughts from Dostoevsky on the beauty of God’s world

It was a bright, warm, still, July night, a cool mist rose from the broad river, we could hear the splash of a fish, the birds were still, all was hushed and beautiful, everything praying to God.  Only we two were not sleeping, the lad and I, and we talked of the beauty of this world of God’s and of the great mystery of it.  Every blade of grass, every insect, ant, and golden bee, all so marvellously know their path, though they have not intelligence, they bear witness to the mystery of God and continually accomplish it themselves.

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