The promise, made when I am in love, to be true to the beloved as long as I live, commits me to being true even if I cease to be in love.

This is where men, even the trustiest, fail us. Their heart is never so wholly given to any matter but that some trifle of a meal, or a drink, or a sleep, or a joke, or a girl, may come in between them and it, and then (even if you are a queen) you'll get no more good out of them until they've had their way.

A great many people (not you) do now seem to think that the mere state of being worried is in itself meritorious. I don’t think it is. We must, if it so happens, give our lives for others: but even while we’re doing it, I think we’re meant to enjoy Our Lord and, in Him, our friends, our food, our sleep, our jokes, and the birds’ song and the frosty sunrise.

It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies.

You can give the Devil too much or too little attention.

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

I came alive when I started loving you.