It's The Circumstances Of Popular Monarchy, The

One Of The Stupidest Theories Of Western Life.

Old Politicians, Like Old Actors, Revive In The Limelight. The Vacancy Which Afflicts Them In Private Momentarily Lifts When, Oncemore, They Feel The Eyes Of An Audience Upon Them. Their Old Passion For Holding The Centre Of The Stage Guides Their Uncertain Footsteps To Where The Footlights Shine, And Summons Up A Wintry Smile When The Curtain Rises.

It's Very Nearly Impossible To Tell The Truth In Television.

In The End, Coming To Faith Remains For All A Sense Of Homecoming, Of Picking Up The Threads Of A Lost Life, Of Responding To A Bell That Had Long Been Ringing, Of Taking A Place At A Table That Had Long Been Vacant.

The Genius Of Man In Our Time Has Gone Into Jet-propulsion, Atom-splitting, Penicillin-curing, Etc. There Is None Over For Works Of Imagination; Of Spiritual Insight Or Mystical Enlightenment. I Asked For Bread And Was Given A Tranquilliser.