You can't get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.

To enter heaven is to become more human than you ever succeeded in being on earth; to enter hell is to be banished from humanity. What is cast (or casts itself) into hell is not a man: it is 'remains.'

The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books.

What can be better than to get out a book on Saturday afternoon and thrust all mundane considerations away till next week.

At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.

He told people that their sins were forgiven, and never waited to consult all the other people whom their sins had undoubtedly injured. He unhesitatingly behaved as if He was the party chiefly concerned, the person chiefly offended in all offenses. This makes sense only if He really was God whose laws are broken and whose love is wounded in every sin.

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