The human mind has no more power of inventing a new value than of planting a new sun in the sky or a new primary color in the spectrum.

This is one of the miracles of love: It gives a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.

You're a mere chick. I remember you when you were a egg. Don't come trying to teach me, sir. Crabs and crumpets!

Oh, Lor!' said the boy, sitting down on the grassy bank at the edge of the shrubbery and very quickly getting up again because the grass was soaking wet. His name was unfortunately Eustace Scrubb but he wasn't a bad sort.

Man does not have a soul. He is a soul. He has a body.

...if all we mean by our love is a craving to be loved, we are in a very deplorable state.

But probably every age gets, within certain limits, the science it deserves.