Love may forgive all infirmities and love still in spite of them: but Love cannot cease to will their removal.

Death and resurrection are what the story is about and had we but eyes to see it, this has been hinted on every page, met us, in some disguise, at every turn, and even been muttered in conversations between such minor characters (if they are minor characters) as the vegetables.

The demand of the loveless and the self-imprisoned that they should be allowed to blackmail the universe: that till they consent to be happy (on their own terms) no one else shall taste joy: that theirs should be the final power; that Hell should be able to veto Heaven.

The Moral Law tells us the tune we have to play: our instincts are merely the keys.

Why should your heart not dance?

One flesh. Or if you prefer, one ship. The starboard engine has gone. I, the port engine, must chug along somehow till we make harbour. Or rather, till the journey ends.

When we force a boy to be a mediocrity in a dozen subjects we destroy his standards, perhaps for life.