There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills.

Sorrow is better than fear. Fear is a journey, a terrible journey. But, sorrow is at least an arriving.

For who can stop the heart from breaking?

Nothing is ever quiet, except for fools.

The truth is, our civilization is not Christian; it is a tragic compound of great ideal and fearful practice, of loving charity and fearful clutching of possessions.

When I go up there, which is my intention, the Big Judge will say to me, Where are your wounds? and if I say I haven’t any, he will say, Was there nothing to fight for? I couldn’t face that question. (Ah, But Your Land Is Beautiful)

For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing.