Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal.

I am a weak and sinful man, but God put His hands on me, that is all.

There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.

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.

Happy the eyes that can close

Something deep is touched here, something that is good and deep.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply... For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.