Enough had been thought, and said, and felt, and imagined. It was about time that something should be done.

Excess of love, did ye say? There was no excess, there was defect. She loved her son too little, not too much. If she had loved him more there'd be no difficulty.

For most of us the prayer in Gethsemane is the only model. Removing mountains can wait.

Isn't it absolutely essential to keep a fierce Left and fierce Right, both on their toes and each terrified of the other? That's how we get things done.

I do not think that all who choose wrong roads perish; but their rescue consists in being put back on the right road.

I need Christ, not something that resembles Him.

Only He who really lived a human life (and I presume that only one did) can fully taste the horror of death.