“What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?”

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.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that’s the inheritor of our fear.

Money is for buying the fruits of the earth, of the land where you were born.

But perhaps when you were too obedient, and did not do openly what others did, and were quiet in church and hard-working at school.

And whether they do not see him there in the grass, or whether they fear to halt even a moment, but they do not wake him, they let him be.

Life has not taught me to expect nothing, but she has taught me not to expect success to be the inevitable result of my endeavors.

Fear is a journey,a terrible journey, but sorrow is at least an arrival.

There is not much talking now. A silence falls upon them all.

These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.