As for all I can tell, the only difference is that what many see we call a real thing, and what only one sees we call a dream.

If things are real, they're there all the time.

I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful, rebels to the end; that the doors of hell are locked on the inside.

Most of us, I suppose, have a secret country but for most of us it is only an imaginary country. Edmund and Lucy were luckier than other people in that respect.

Love is unselfishly choosing for another's highest good.

Hatred obscures all distinctions.

I am only trying to call attention to a fact; the fact that this year, of this month, or, more likely, this very day, we have failed to practice ourselves the kind of behaviour we expect from other people.