Ascension seemed at such times a natural law. If one added to it a law of completion - that everything must finally be made comprehensible - then some general rescue of the sort I imagined my aunt to have undertaken would be inevitable. For why do our thoughts turn to some gesture of a hand, the fall of a sleeve, some corner of a room on a particular anonymous afternoon, even when we are asleep, and even when we are so old that our thoughts have abandoned other business? What are all these fragments for , if not to be knit up finally?

When something ought to be true then it proves to be a very powerful truth.

It is a good thing to know what it is to be poor, and a better thing if you can do it in company.

There's so much to be grateful for, words are poor things.

Fact explains nothing. On the contrary, it is fact that requires explanation.

In eternity this world will be like Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets.

Nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense.