The real test of being in the presence of God is, that you either forget about yourself altogether or see yourself as a small, dirty object.
The real problem is not why some pious, humble, believing people suffer, but why some do not.
Only a real risk tests the reality of a belief.
It is after you have realized that there is a real Moral Law, and a Power behind the law, and that you have broken that law and put yourself wrong with that Power – it is after all this, and not a moment sooner, that Christianity begins to talk.
I am struck here by the curious mixture of justice and injustice in our lives. We are blamed for our real faults but usually not on the right occasions.
Heaven is reality itself. All that is fully real is Heavenly. For all that can be shaken will be shaken and only the unshakeable remains.
The most precious gift that marriage gave me was the constant impact of something very close and intimate, yet all the time unmistakably other, resistant – in a word, real.
Until you have given up yourself to Him, you will not have a real self.
So many things – nay every real thing – is good if only it will be humble and ordinate.
The real trouble about the duty of forgiveness is that you do it with all your might on Monday and then find on Wednesday that it hasn’t stayed put and all has to be done over again.
The Glory of God, and, as our only means of glorifying Him, the salvation of human souls, is the real business of life.
We are finite and God will not call us everywhere or to support every worthy cause. And real needs are not far from us.
Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it.
A real desire to believe all the good you can of others and to make others as comfortable as you can will solve most of the problems.
The prayer preceding all prayers is ‘May it be the real I who speaks. May it be the real Thou that I speak to.’
As for all I can tell, the only difference is that what many see we call a real thing, and what only one sees we call a dream.
Slowly, quietly, like snow-flakes – like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night – little flakes of me, my impressions, my selections, are settling down on the image of her. The real shape wil be quite hidden in the end.
If things are real, they’re there all the time.
While friendship has been by far the chief source of my happiness, acquaintance or general society has always meant little to me, and I cannot quite understand why a man should wish to know more people than he can make real friends of.
Unless thought is valid we have no reason to believe in the real universe.