No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.

The literary man re-reads, other men simply read.

Good and evil both increase at compound interest.

The Enemy wants him, in the end, to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbour's talents--or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall.

My prayer is that when I die, all of hell rejoices that I am out of the fight.

I suspect there is something in our very mode of thought which makes it inevitable that we should always be baffled by actual existence, whatever character actual existence may have.