Reason is itself a matter of faith. It is an act of faith to assert that our thoughts have any relation to reality at all.

You can't have the family farm without the family.

The Sentimentalist, roughly speaking, is the man who wants to eat his cake and have it. He has no sense of honor about ideas; he will not see that one must pay for an idea as well as for anything else. He will have them all at once in one wild intellectual harem, no matter how much they quarrel and contradict each other.

Then I only wondered who put the toys in the stocking; now I wonder who put the stocking by the bed, and the bed in the room, and the room in the house, and the house on the planet, and the great planet in the void.

We do not want, as the newspapers say, a church that will move with the world. We want a church that will move the world.

Christianity, whatever else it is, is an explosion. Unless it is sensational there is simply no sense in it. Unless the Gospel sounds like a gun going off it has not been uttered at all.

But they none of them create the psychological conditions in which I first saw, or desired to see, the flower.