Sublime

Death shone on the land like a new daylight, making all things vivid and visibly dear.

The poetry of art is in beholding the single tower; the poetry of nature in seeing the single tree; the poetry of love in following the single woman; the poetry of religion in worshipping the single star.

Moderation is not a compromise; moderation is a passion; the passion of great judges.

Their achievement seemed all the more heroic and divine, because it seemed doubtful whether it was worth doing at all. There seemed to be something greater than mere accuracy in making such a mistake as London.

Things that happen very seldom we all leave out of our calculations, whether they are miraculous or not.

For the perplexity of life arises from there being too many interesting things in it for us to be interested properly in any of them;

Gilbert Keith Chesterton—that Catholic equivalent of Hotei, the “laughing Buddha”—who, though neither a great poet nor a great theologian, had the sort of bewitched imagination from which great poetry and theology can be made. He shone as an essayist and fantast, and of all his many essays the most profound and provoking was “On Nonsense,” the

The man who really cannot see that he is contradicting himself has a great advantage in controversy;