Let God in His wisdom extend His hand where He wills, reward whom He chooses.

One half of the world doesn't believe in God and the other half doesn't believe in me.

We love the Lord, of course, but we often wonder what He finds in us.

Fortunate is the man who has never tasted God's vengeance.

I really believe that if there's any kind of God, he wouldn't be in any one of us - not you, not me, but just in the space in between. If there's some magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone else, sharing something. Even if it's almost impossible to succeed, but who cares, the answer must be in the attempt.

God is at no time hidden. He showeth Himself at all times and in all places. God is in what is evil even as He is in what is good.

No one can tell how God worketh. His ways are very dark. It may be that the things which we call evil are good, and that the things which we call good are evil. There is no knowledge of anything. We can but bow our heads to His will, for God is very strong. He breaketh in pieces the strong together with the weak, for He regardeth not any man.

Every now and again take a good look at something not made with hands: a mountain, a star, the turn of a stream. There will come to you wisdom and patience and solace and, above all, the assurance that you are not alone in the world.

I talk to God, but the sky is empty.

The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plain blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?

I prayed to a God I didn't believe in to let this be over soon.

Man is a dog's idea of what God should be.

I am torn in two, but I will conquer myself. I will take a crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of God in me.

God did not forsake them, but put the blood angel to look after them until such a time as they would enter their star.

God, it seems, has turned his backside to us, giving us the dark negative, the death wing, until such a time as a flower breaks down the front door.

I want God to put His steaming arms around Me, and so do you. Because we need. Because we are sore creatures.

Please, God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone.

In place of the Lord, I whispered, a fool has risen.

Where is the other me? The girl of the same dress and my smile? Today they sing for alms. God, have you lapsed? Are you so bitter with the world you would put us down the drainpipe at six?

And not even a muddled angel will peek down at us in our foxhole. And he will not have time to send down an eyedropper of prayer for us, the mothering thing of us, as we drop into the soup and drown in the worry festering inside us.

Their game is taking God literally, taking Him at His word, though often He be mute.

Around the hero everything turns into a tragedy; around the demi-god into a satyr play; and around God - what? perhaps into "world"?

When did I realize I was God? Well, I was praying and I suddenly realized I was talking to myself.

He tells me God forgives me and I must forgive myself, that God loves me and I must love myself for only when you love God in yourself can you love all God's creatures.

It is final proof of God's omnipotence that he need not exist in order to save us.