Oxford, the paradise of dead philosophies.

Towers in a modern town are a frill and a survival; they seem like the raised hands of the various churches, afraid of being overlooked, and saying to the forgetful public, Here I am! Or perhaps they are rival lightning rods, saying to the emanations of divine grace, "Please strike here!

A conceived thing is doubly a product of mind, more a product of mind, if you will, than an idea, since ideas arise, so to speak,by the mind's inertia and conceptions of things by its activity. Ideas are mental sediment; conceived things are mental growths.

Animals are born and bred in litters. Solitude grows blessed and peaceful only in old age.

Facts are all accidents. They all might have been different. They all may become different. They all may collapse altogether.

In each person I catch the fleeting suggestion of something beautiful and swear eternal friendship with that.

An operation that eventually kills may be technically successful, and the man may die cured; and so a description of religion thatshowed it to be madness might first show how real and warm it was, so that if it perished, at least it would perish understood.