You can't see anything properly while your eyes are blurred with tears.

Our souls demand Purgatory, don't they? Would it not break the heart if God said to us, It is true, my son, that your breath smells and your rags drip with mud and slime, but we are charitable here and no one will upbraid you with these things, nor draw away from you. Enter into joy? Should we not reply, With submission, sir, and if there is no objection, I'd rather be cleansed first. It may hurt, you know-even so, sir.

You're a mere chick. I remember you when you were a egg. Don't come trying to teach me, sir. Crabs and crumpets!

It's not a question of God 'sending' us to Hell. In each of us there is something growing up which will of itself be Hell unless it is nipped in the bud.

If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.

My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself.

He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.