“For our Lord suffered. And I come to believe that he suffered, not to save us from suffering, but to teach us how to bear suffering. For he knew that there is no life without suffering.”

For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Money is for food and clothes and comfort, and a visit to the pictures.

But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

Therefore if a law is unjust, and if the Judge judges according to the law, that is justice, even if it is not just.

Happy the eyes that can close

It is not “forgive and forget” as if nothing wrong had ever happened, but “forgive and go forward,

Sorrow is better than fear. Fear is a journey, a terrible journey. But, sorrow is at least an arriving.

Wise men write many books, in words too hard to understand. But this, the purpose of our lives, the end of all our struggle, is beyond all human wisdom.

The truth is, our civilization is not Christian; it is a tragic compound of great ideal and fearful practice, of loving charity and fearful clutching of possessions.

Although nothing has come yet, something is here already.

But to punish and not to restore, that is the greatest of all offences.

This is no time to talk of hedges and fields, or the beauties of any country.

Money is to make happy the lives of children. Money is for security, and for dreams, and for hopes, and for purposes.

One day in Johannesburg, and already the tribe was being rebuilt, the house and soul being restored.

I have one great fear in my heart, that one day when they are turned to loving, they will find that we are turned to hating.

Forgive us all, for we all have trespasses.

I never knew a government yet that wanted to do anything.

Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill! You knew, didn’t you? I’m part of you? Close, close, close! I’m the reason why it’s no go? Why things are what they are?

Those wise men knew God to be in things, and Divinity to be latent in Nature, working and glowing differently in different subjects and succeeding through diverse physical forms, in certain arrangements, in making them participants in her, I say, in her being, in her life and intellect.

Oh, my dear, if you only knew how strange is the matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh.

As an athlete, I understood the value of my health insurance. I knew that in my profession, injuries were common and could happen at any time.

If I had a horse of my own that I loved and fed and knew me, it would be amazing.

What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof? – I wish I knew… Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can.

Do you think that Hemingway knew he was a writer at twenty years old? No, he did not. Or Fitzgerald, or Wolfe. This is a difficult concept to grasp. Hemingway didn’t know he was Ernest Hemingway when he was a young man.