Love, while always forgiving of imperfections and mistakes, can never cease to will their removal.

Every poet and musician and artist, but for grace">Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him.

If Christianity was something we were making up, of course we could make it easier. But it is not.

In those days Mr. Sherlock Holmes was still living in Baker Street and the Bastables were looking for treasure in the Lewisham Road.

You die and die and then you are beyond death.

There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hearts, we have ever desired anything else.

With the possible exception of the equator, everything begins somewhere.