For even satire is a form of sympathy. It is the way our sympathy flows and recoils that really determines our lives. And here lies the vast importance of the novel, properly handled. It can inform and lead into new places our sympathy away in recoil from things gone dead. Therefore the novel, properly handled, can reveal the most secret places of life: for it is the passional secret places of life, above all, that the tide of sensitive awareness needs to ebb and flow, cleansing and freshening.

Thought is a man in his wholeness, wholly attending.

There is no such thing as liberty. You only change one sort of domination for another. All we can do is to choose our master.

The acrid scents of autumn, Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear

The near touch of death may be a release into life; if only it will break the egoistic will, and release that other flow.

What is the knocking? What is the knocking at the door in the night? It is somebody who wants to do us harm. No, no, it is the three strange angels. Admit them, admit them.

For how can a man stand, unless he have something sure under his feet. Can a man tread the unstable water all his life, and call that standing? Better give in and drown at once.