“There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills.”

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices.

For mines are for men, not for money. And money is not something to go mad about, and throw your hat into the air for.

Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal.

To give up the task of reforming society is to give up one’s responsibility as a free man.

Ask yourself not if this or that is expedient, but if it is right.

But the one thing that has power completely is love, because when a man loves, he seeks no power, and therefore he has power.

I am a weak and sinful man, but God put His hands on me, that is all.

The tragedy is not that things are broken.

When men are ruled by fear, they strive to prevent the very changes that will abate it.

But I have learned that kindness and love can pay for pain and suffering.

Who knows for what we live, and struggle, and die?…

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved.

We do not work for men. We work for the land and the people. We do not even work for money.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

When the storm threatens, a man is afraid for his house.

The ground is holy, being even as it came from the Creator.

It sounds so lovely in French. So I took that because it was the subject: I and myself and myself and I. Which is, in a way, boring, because it is a contradiction.

The idea of an ordered and elegant universe is a lovely one.

Read for yourselves, read for the sake of your inspiration, for the sweet turmoil in your lovely head.

Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

There is that lovely feeling of one reader telling another, ‘You must read this.’

Don’t Let Him Know is a rich, evocative and brilliantly told tale of family, of loyalties, and of love that must stay secret.

Your pain is a school unto itself–– and your joy a lovely temple.

Well, we’ve been lucky devils both And there is no need for a pledge or oath To bind our lovely friendship fast, By firmer stuff Close bound enough.