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

A well-trained dog is like religion, it sets the deserving at their ease and is a terror to evildoers.

There always comes, I think, a sort of peak in suffering at which either you win over your pain or your pain wins over you, according as to whether you can, or cannot, call up that extra ounce of endurance that helps you to break through the circle of yourself and do the hitherto impossible. That extra ounce carries you through 'le dernier quart d' heure.' Psychologist have a name for it, I believe. Christians call it the Grace of God.

Faith given back to us after a night of doubt is a stronger thing, and far more valuable to us than faith that has never been tested.

Water, wind and birdsong were the echoes in this quiet place of a great chiming symphony that was surging around the world. Knee-deep in grasses and moon daisies, Stella stood and listened, swaying a little as the flowers and trees were swaying, her spirit voice singing loudly, though her lips were still, and every pulse in her body beating its hammer strokes in time to the song.

The elements were "seeking" each other in rage and confusion, and in the fury of the conflict boastful man was utterly humiliated, sucked down, drowned.

He grinned at her, and she grinned at him, and it seemed to Maria that suddenly the sun came out.