A world of automata – of creatures that worked like machines – would hardly be worth creating.

I want God, not my idea of God.

I cannot speak for the way God deals with others; I only know how he deals with me personally.

His face had become very red and his mouth and fingers were sticky. He did not look either clever or handsome, whatever the Queen might say.

the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh-wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell.

Is there any possibility of getting the super Welfare State's honey and avoiding the sting?

The best fruits are plucked for each by some hand that is not his own.