Books Are But Dead Bodies To You,

It Is Not The High Summer Alone That Is God's. The Winter Also Is His. And Into His Winter He Came To Visit Us. And All Man's Winters Are His - The Winter Of Our Poverty, The Winter Of Our Sorrow, The Winter Of Our Unhappiness - Even 'the Winter Of Our Discontent.

And So All Growth That Is Not Towards God Is Growing To Decay.

Annihilation Itself Is No Death To Evil. Only Good Where Evil Was, Is Evil Dead. An Evil Thing Must Live With Its Evil Until It Chooses To Be Good. That Alone Is The Slaying Of Evil.

It Is Only By Loving A Thing That You Can Make It Yours.

It May Be Infinitely Worse To Refuse To Forgive Than To Murder, Because