I'd overlooked the obvious because my focus had always been elsewhere! All along, this that I had been seeking was already here.
What terrible tragedies realism inflicts on people.
He was one of the numerous and varied legion of dullards, of half-animated abortions, conceited, half-educated coxcombs, who attach themselves to the idea most in fashion only to vulgarize it and who caricature every cause they serve, however sincerely.
Every man has some reminiscences which he would not tell to everyone, but only to his friends. He has others which he would not reveal even to his friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. But finally there are still others which a man is even afraid to tell himself, and every decent man has a considerable number of such things stored away. That is, one can even say that the more decent he is, the greater the number of such things in his mind.
There is immeasurably more left inside than what comes out in words.
Men like to to count their troubles; few calculate their happiness.
To love is to suffer and there can be no love otherwise.
I maintain that some Jew wrote it who probably heard about Christian people but never encountered any.
Which can say more than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
Anyone who lives in a city will know the feeling of having been there too long. The gorge-vision that the streets imprint on us, the sense of blockage, the longing for surfaces other than glass, brick, concrete and tarmac. . . . I have lived in Cambridge on and off for a decade, and I imagine I will continue to do so for years to come. And for as long as I stay here, I know I will have to also get to the wild places.
As long as we work on God's line, He will aid us. When we attempt to work on our own lines, He rebukes us with failure.