Christmas is a mood, a quality, a symbol. It is never merely a fact.

There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.

There are two questions that we have to ask ourselves. The first is 'Where am I going?' and the second is 'Who will go with me?'

During times of war, hatred becomes quite respectable even though it has to masquerade often under the guise of patriotism.

Community cannot for long feed on itself; it can only flourish with the coming of others from beyond, their unknown and undiscovered brothers.

The measure of a man's estimate of your strength is the kind of weapons he feels that he must use in order to hold you fast in a prescribed place.

Perfect love is long delayed.