The fact is we can only love what we know personally. And we cannot know much. In public affairs, in the rebuilding of civilization, something less dramatic and emotional is needed, namely tolerance.

Tolerance is just a makeshift, suitable for an overcrowded and overheated planet. It carries on when love gives out, and love generally gives out as soon as we move away from our home and our friends.

Man has to pick up the use of his functions as he goes along- especially the function of Love.

If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays, it will be very exciting--both for us and for her.

Faith, to my mind, is a stiffening process, a sort of mental starch.

He was obliged however to throw over Christianity. Those who base their conduct upon what they are rather than upon what they ought to be, always must throw it over in the end . . . .

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.