Oh, I can see it happening, age after age, and growing worse the more you reveal your beauty: the son turning his back on the mother and the bride on her groom, stolen away by this everlasting calling, calling, calling of the gods. Taken where we can't follow. It would be far better for us if you were foul and ravening. We'd rather you drank their blood than stole their hearts. We'd rather they were ours and dead than yours and made immortal.

The question is not what we intended ourselves to be, but what He intended us to be when He made us.

When you go to church you are really listening-in to the secret wireless from out friends: that is why the enemy is so anxious to prevent us from going. He does it by playing on our conceit and laziness and intellectual snobbery.

Badness is only spoiled goodness.

Tribulations cannot cease until God either sees us remade or sees that our remaking is now hopeless.

It is very true. But even a traitor may mend. I have known one that did.

Pain plants the flag of truth within a rebel fortress.