I say again, if I cannot draw a horse, I will not write THIS IS A HORSE under what I foolishly meant for one.

Could you not give me some sign, or tell me something about you that never changes, or some other way to know you, or thing to know you by?" — "No, Curdie: that would be to keep you from knowing me. You must know me in quite another way from that. It would not be the least use to you or me either if I were to make you know me in that way. It would be but to know the sign of me — not to know me myself.

The region of the senses is the unbelieving part of the human soul.

In low theologies, hell is invariably the deepest truth, and the love of God is not so deep as hell.

It is by loving and not by being loved that one can come nearest to the soul of another.

Do you think you love your children better than He who made them? Is not your love what it is because He put it into your heart first? Have you not often been cross with them? Sometimes unjust to them? Whence came the returning love that rose from unknown depths in your being, and swept away the anger and the injustice? You did not create that love. Probably you were not good enough to send for it by prayer. But it came. God sent it. He makes you love your children.

God left the world unfinished for man to work his skill upon. He left the electricity still in the cloud, the oil still in the earth.