The Man Who Was Thursday, a nightmare

I have remarked that the materialist, like the madman, is in prison; in the prison of one thought. These people seemed to think it singularly inspiring to keep on saying that the prison was very large. The size of this scientific universe gave one no novelty, no relief. The cosmos went on for ever, but not in its wildest constellation could there b

The command of Christ is impossible, but it is not insane; it is rather sanity preached to a planet of lunatics.

He is in the clean and well-lit prison of one idea: he is sharpened to one painful point.