We are...a Divine work of art, something that God is making...something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character.

Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.

What would really satisfy us would be a God who said of anything we happened to like doing, 'What does it matter so long as they are contented?'

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

The false religion of lust is baser than the false religion of mother-love or patriotism or art: but lust is less likely to be made into a religion.

A cold, self-righteous prig who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to Hell than a prostitute.

Friends are like coals in a fire - together, they glow; apart, they grow cold.