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Hear the words of Dermot Healy, who spoke of his youth with reverence: “When I was 14 or 15, our teacher introduced us to Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. It was just for entertainment—we read it aloud—and all of a sudden it became a treasure.” What begins in these words as a simple classroom memory swells into a truth that spans the ages: that great art, once revealed, transforms from pastime into treasure, from passing activity into eternal nourishment for the soul.

The teacher, seemingly without grand design, placed before the students a story—not as burden, not as examination, but as a source of entertainment, a moment of shared enjoyment. And yet, within the rolling cadences of Dickens’ prose, within the drama of sacrifice and redemption, the young Healy discovered something immeasurable. What had been mere words became a revelation; what had been exercise became epiphany. Thus is the power of literature—it waits patiently as ink on paper until the right heart opens to receive it, and then it becomes a flame.

This truth is not new. Consider the tale of Augustine of Hippo, who as a young man drifted restlessly, unmoved by holy words. Yet one day, upon hearing a passage of scripture read aloud, he was struck to the core. The words, once dismissed, became his guiding star, reshaping his life and the lives of generations. So it was with Healy: the act of reading aloud—so simple, so humble—became the channel through which the ordinary became extraordinary. Great treasures often reveal themselves in just this way: hidden in plain sight, awaiting recognition.

The treasure Healy speaks of is not only the book itself, but the awakening of imagination. For A Tale of Two Cities is not merely a story of revolution—it is a meditation on love, sacrifice, justice, and resurrection. For a young boy to encounter such depths at the age of 14 or 15 is to be invited into the vast conversation of humanity. Healy’s life as a writer would later carry echoes of this moment, proof that a single story, given at the right time, can shape the path of an entire life.

The meaning of the saying is therefore clear: great gifts are often given under the guise of entertainment. We may believe we are simply passing the time, reading a tale, singing a song, listening to a story. But suddenly the heart is pierced, and what was light becomes weighty, what was fleeting becomes eternal. This is why cultures across the world have always told stories—not merely to amuse, but to plant treasures in the soul that may lie hidden for years until they awaken.

The lesson, O listener, is that you must never underestimate the power of what you are given, nor despise small beginnings. That book you skim, that tale you hear aloud, that lesson your teacher shares—it may be the very seed that blooms into your destiny. Treat stories with reverence, for in them lies the wisdom of ages. And if you are a teacher, a parent, or a guide, remember that even what you offer lightly may become someone else’s treasure. What you think of as ordinary may, to another, be life-changing.

Practical action is simple but profound: read widely, listen attentively, and do not dismiss what is given to you as mere pastime. When you encounter a story, ask yourself: what treasure lies hidden here? And share stories generously with others—books, songs, memories—for you never know which one will awaken the spirit of another. In doing so, you become not only a keeper of treasure, but a giver of it.

So let the words of Dermot Healy endure: “We read it aloud, and all of a sudden it became a treasure.” For they remind us that the greatest transformations often begin in the simplest acts. A boy reading a book. A class reading aloud. And suddenly, the door of the soul swings wide. Such is the power of art, and such is the gift of those who place it in our hands. Guard it well, and pass it on, for this is how the flame of wisdom moves from age to age.