In the hearts of witches, love and hate lie close together and often tumble over each other.

I write, not for children,but for the child-like, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five.

We are dwellers in a divine universe where no desires are in vain - if only they be large enough.

How many people would like to be good, if only they might be good without taking trouble about it! They do not like goodness well enough to hunger and thirst after it, or to sell all that they have that they may buy it; they will not batter at the gate of the kingdom of heaven; but they look with pleasure on this or that aerial castle of righteousness, and think it would be rather nice to live in it.

As many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God.

Her heart - like every heart, if only its fallen sides were cleared away - was an inexhaustible fountain of love: she loved everything she saw.

In moments of doubt I cry, ‘Could God Himself create such lovely things as I dreamed?’ ‘Whence then came thy dream?’ answers Hope.