If you have ever clothed another with woe, as with a garment of pain, you will never be quite as happy as though you had not done that thing.

We are told in the Pentateuch, that god, the father of us all, gave thousands of maidens, after having killed their fathers, their mothers, and their brothers, to satisfy the brutal lusts of savage men. If there be a god, I pray him to write in his book, opposite my name, that I denied this lie for him.

We rise by lifting others.

All prayers die in the air which they uselessly agitate.

Ignorance worships mystery; reason explains it; the one grovels, the other soars.

The only thing that makes life endurable in this world is human love, and yet, according to Christianity, that is the very thing that we are not to have in the other world. We are to be so taken up with Jesus and angels, that we shall care nothing about our brothers and sisters that have been damned. We shall be so carried away with the music of the harp that we shall not even hear the wail of father and mother. Such a religion is a disgrace to human nature.

If the Bible and my brain are both the work of the same infinite God, whose fault is it that the book and my brain do not agree?