You must be asking which door is the true one; not which pleases you best

One flesh. Or if you prefer, one ship. The starboard engine has gone. I, the port engine, must chug along somehow till we make harbour. Or rather, till the journey ends.

One of our great allies at present is the Church itself. Do not misunderstand me. I do not mean the Church as we see her spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity, terrible as an army with banners. That, I confess, is a spectacle which makes our boldest tempters uneasy. But fortunately it is quite invisible to these humans.

But I remember more dearly autumn afternoons in bottoms that lay intensely silent under old great trees

I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, hoever, turns out to be not a state but a process.

Odd, the way the less the Bible is read the more it is translated

People who know a lot of the same things can hardly help talking about them.