Logic might be unanswerable because it was so absolutely wrong.

It was as if thousands and thousands of little roots and threads of consciousness in him and her had grown together into a tangled mass, till they could crowd no more, and the plant was dying. Now quietly, subtly, she was unravelling the tangle of his consciousness and hers, breaking the threads gently, one by one, with patience and impatience to get clear.

Mankind has got to get back to the rhythm of the cosmos.

Try to find your deepest issue in every confusion, and abide by that.

I don't believe any more in democracy. But I can't believe in the old sort of aristocracy, either, nor can I wish it back, splendid as it was. What I believe in is the old Homeric aristocracy, when the grandeur was inside a man, and he lived in a simple wooden house.

While we live, let us live.

All vital truth contains the memory of all that for which it is not true.