God, that checkroom of our dreams.
I still understand a few words in life, but I no longer think they make a sentence.
Theories pass. The frog remains.
Beauty in art is often nothing but ugliness subdued.
We are not naïve enough to ask for pure men; we ask merely for men whose impurity does not conflict with the obligations of their job.
The divine is perhaps that quality in man which permits him to endure the lack of God.