Time hath a taming hand.

If we insist on being as sure as is conceivable... we must be content to creep along the ground, and never soar.

Somehow I am necessary for His purposes, as necessary in my place as an Archangel in his.

How many writers are there... who, breaking up their subject into details, destroy its life, and defraud us of the whole by their anxiety about the parts.

Evil has no substance of its own, but is only the defect, excess, perversion, or corruption of that which has substance.

Every breath of air and ray of light and heat, every beautiful prospect, is, as it were, the skirts of the (angel's) garments, the waving robes of those whose faces see God.

We can believe what we choose. We are answerable for what we choose to believe.