Love, in the Christian sense, does not mean an emotion. It is a state not of the feelings but of the will; that state of the will which we have naturally about ourselves, and must learn to have about other people.

Ink is the great cure for all human ills.

Actually it seems to me that one can hardly say anything either bad enough or good enough about life.

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us.

The devil loves 'curing' a small fault by giving you a great one.

Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.

There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.