It is quite useless knocking at the door of heaven for earthly comfort. It's not the sort of comfort they supply there.

Cobbles and kettledrums! ...I hope this madness isn't going to end in a moonlit climb and broken necks.

Pleasure that is its own pursuit is always bad pleasure.

It still remains true that no justification of virtue will enable a man to be virtuous.

who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape? The words compelle intrare, compel them to come in, have been so abused by wicked men that we shudder at them; but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy. The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of man, and His compulsion is our liberation.

The man is a humbug — a vulgar, shallow, self-satisfied mind, absolutely inaccessible to the complexities and delicacies of the real world. He has the journalist's air of being a specialist in everything, of taking in all points of view and being always on the side of the angels: he merely annoys a reader who has the least experience of knowing things, of what knowing is like. There is not two pence worth of real thought or real nobility in him. But he isn't dull.

Most people don't need to be taught, they need only to be reminded