To my mind, this man was one of the most eloquent Christians in the last century, and has a gift of making very complicated ideas very simple. Hope you appreciate some of these gems as much as I did.
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A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.

Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither.

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable.

Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important.

Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.

God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.

I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.

If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth: only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair.

If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this.

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.

It's so much easier to pray for a bore than to go and see one.

Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.

Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.


Much of the modern resistance to chastity comes from men's belief that they "own" their bodies - those vast and perilous estates, pulsating with the energy that made the worlds, in which they find themselves without their consent and from which they are ejected at the pleasure of Another!

Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.

Reason is the natural order of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning.

Telling us to obey instinct is like telling us to obey 'people.' People say different things: so do instincts. Our instincts are at war... Each instinct, if you listen to it, will claim to be gratified at the expense of the rest.

The real problem is not why some pious, humble, believing people suffer, but why some do not.

The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.

There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way."

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.

I've never blogged before. But I feel I have an important story to pass on.

Ive had an adventurous weekend. Three of us (Murray, myself and Alasdair) were going up to Orkney for the weekend to see a friend (Gordon). Alasdair and I set off from Glasgow, to meet Murray in Perth. Apart from some hair-raising lane changing in the motorway, that leg of the journey went fine, and soon we were bombing up the A9. Bombing is the right word. Alasdair was convinced we were going to miss the ferry from Scrabster, and as such rarely dipped below 70mph, sometimes hitting the 100 mark.

Around Carrbridge, I noticed a new development going up at the side of the road, and started talking about it. I didn't realise how easily distractable Alasdair is. I turned my head back to the front, only to notice we were straddling both lanes of the road, and that a huge lorry was tanking down upon us. I yelled at Alasdair who managed to yank the whell round in time. However, Murray, who was still staring out the window at the development had his view obscured for a moment, by a lorry passing about three inches away from the end of his nose. He stayed completely silent after that for at least ten minutes. For Murray this is quite an occasion.

We continued North until around the Daviot area, I was turned round from the front seat, chatting to Murray in the back of the car. Suddenly he shouts: "Hoy! What are you doing?".
I turn round once more, this time to see a van, apparently stationary sitting in our lane, with its hazards on. I yell at Alasdair, who is still oblivious to the obstruction ahead. At the last moment, he sees it and brakes, but having been doing a good 70mph approaching it, there was no way to stop. It is a pity Alasdair didn't have the foresight to move out into the other lane, especially as there was no other traffic about, but that's the way of it. He actually claims he shut his eyes, and hoped that it was all a bad dream.

I only had enough time to go into the 'Brace' position, (which continues to cause Murray no end of amusement) before we crashed into the back of the van. After the immediate bang and subsequent shuddering was over I did a quick check. Am I alive? Yes. Do I have all four limbs attached? Yes. Am I gushing blood? No. Are the others alive? I think so - they are groaning anyway. Can I move? Just about. Can I open the door? No. What's that on the floor? My glasses, one lens gone, one leg twisted. What's that sticking out of the glove compartment? Oh... its the bottom of the glove compartment. I look up to see steam pouring out of the bonnet, which is buckled up right in front of me.

Other cars have stopped and someone opens the door from outside. I jump out, thinking something about the petrol tank exploding. Murray remains inside, and the doctor tells him to stay there till the ambulance arrives. Soon there are policemen and paramedics about and taking charge.

I look again at the van: "Coast to coast - Chichester to Thurso". It was a charity bike ride. They had got all the way to Invernessshire before we put them off the road...

It transpires that Murray broke his collar bone, and I am fairly convinced I fractured a rib, though I haven't bothered going to the doctor about it.
We both have severe bruising, whiplash and so on. I have a horrendous friction burn down my collar bone, which looked delightful. Murray was whisked away to A&E in Raigmore hospital, Inverness, with some nasty wounds on his stomach. Alasdair and I were taken by the recovery van back to Inverness, where Alasdair consigned his one month old Rover to scrap. At the scrapyard we met up again with Murray, who had argued unceasingly with the doctors and police until they had let him leave the hospital and reunited him with his beloved mobile phone.

Despite our aches and pains we decided to continue North, and stayed in Inverness that night. All six Hostels in Inverness were full, but the Ho ho hostel put us up on the floor of their c