As Christ is the blossom of humanity, so the blossom of every man is Christ perfected in him.

I repent me of the ignorance wherein I ever said that God made man out of nothing: there is no nothing out of which to make anything; God is all in all, and he made us out of himself.

A beast does not know that he is a beast, and the nearer a man gets to being a beast, the less he knows it.

Each is but a means to an end; in the perfected end we find the intent, and there God — not in the laws themselves, except as his means of revealing himself. For that same reason, human science cannot discover God. For human science is but the backward undoing of the tapestry-web of God's science, it works with its back to him, and is always leaving him — his intent.

But I begin to think the chief difficulty in writing a book must be to keep out what does not belong to it.

We should teach our children to think no more of their bodies when dead than they do of their hair when cut off, or of their old clothes when they have done with them.

All things are possible with God, but all things are not easy.