The lovers of life, they are children at heart always in their wonder and delight, but they do not grab.

Not quite birds, as they were not quite flowers, mysterious and fascinating as are all indeterminate creatures.

...there began to come to her a first dim realization of God's humility. Rejected by the proud in His own right by what humble means He chose to succor them; through the spirit of a child, a poor gypsy or an old man, by a song perhaps, or even it might be by the fall of a leaf or the scent of a flower. For His infinite and humble patience nothing was too small to advance His purpose of salvation and eternity was not too long for its accomplishment.

In times of storm and tempest, of indecision and desolation, a book already known and loved makes better reading than something new and untried ... nothing is so warming and companionable.

He had discovered that the choice between self-love or love of something other than self offers no escape from suffering either way, it is merely a choice between two woundings, of the pride or of the heart.

To be sorry and glad together is to be perceptive to the richness of life.

The child in us is always there, you know, and it's the best part of us, the winged part that travels farthest.