Look for the valleys, the green places, and fly through them. There will always be a way through.

Did I hate him, then? Indeed, I believe so. A love like that can grow to be nine-tenths hatred and still call itself love.

Truth and falsehood are opposed; but truth is the norm not of truth only but of falsehood also.

Come, live with me and you'll know me.

A man who is eating or lying with his wife or preparing to go to sleep in humility, thankfulness and temperance, is, by Christian standards, in an infinitely higher state than one who is listening to Bach or reading Plato in a state of pride.

This is where men, even the trustiest, fail us. Their heart is never so wholly given to any matter but that some trifle of a meal, or a drink, or a sleep, or a joke, or a girl, may come in between them and it, and then (even if you are a queen) you'll get no more good out of them until they've had their way.

What we want is not more little books about Christianity, but more little books by Christians on other subjects--with their Christianity latent.