That thing is Freedom: the gift whereby ye most resemble your Maker and are yourselves part of eternal reality.

A universe whose only claim to be believed in rests on the validity of inference must not start telling us the inference is invalid.

Be sure it is not for nothing that the Landlord has knit our hearts so closely to time and place – to one friend rather than another and one shire more that all the land.

Ink is the great cure for all human ills.

Nothing is wonderful except in the abnormal, and nothing is abnormal until we have grasped the norm.

Pain is God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world.

And in that far distant day when the gods become wholly beautiful, or we at last are shown how beautiful they always were, this will happen more and more. For mortals, as you said, will become more and more jealous. And mother and wife and child and friend will all be in league to keep a soul from being united with the Divine Nature.