God wants a child's heart and a grownup's head.

Poetry too is a little incarnation, giving body to what had been before invisible and inaudible.

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.

I haven't any language weak enough to depict the weakness of my spiritual life. If I weakened it enough it would cease to be language at all. As when you try to turn the gas-ring a little lower still, and it merely goes out.

Human intellect is incurably abstract.

The sun looks down on nothing half so good as a household laughing together over a meal.

That thing is Freedom: the gift whereby ye most resemble your Maker and are yourselves part of eternal reality.