Quotes from Catherine Marshall

One can believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ and feel no personal loyalty to Him at all - indeed, pay no attention whatever to His commandments and His will for one's life.

The only time I ever find my dealings with God less than clear-cut is when I'm not being honest with Him. The fuzziness is always on my side, not His.

Some of what I wrote bordered on blasphemy....If there was a God, He would have to be truth. And in that case, candor--however impertinent--would be more pleasing to Him than posturing.

Truth could never be wholly contained in words. All of us know it: At the same moment the mouth is speaking one thing, the heart is saying another.

A holiday would be a poor thing indeed without a great deal of game playing!

I often marveled that the interior peace of the woman was reflected so faithfully in her surroundings. Even the selection and arrangements of her possessions gave an aura of uncluttered calm. In addition, there was a directness in her approach to all of life--including housekeeping--that never failed to fascinate me. Miss Alice was a person to whom color, symmetry of line and contrast of texture were important.

By jiminy, we do own the only newspaper in town. There must be some way we can use it to do some good there. - Mr. Wallace

but is in danger from the American evil of commercializing even the sacred festivals.

You know how a gardenia's petals reveal any telltale fingermarks by turning brown," the preacher said. "Your lives are like that. Purity is like that . . . Young people, don't give anything to the world to destroy. Don't be ashamed of high ideals, dreams, and beautiful thoughts.

Like most ministers, Peter was not the best judge of his own sermons. Almost invariably when he thought he had written one of his best, the rest of us did not rate it so highly. And, when on Saturday night he was bemoaning a terrible sermon, he could be pretty sure his congregation would think it terrific. How other people rated his sermons was a constant source of astonishment to him. That's what keeps me humble, he often said.

Dean's eyes were studying me. You have a way with words. What kind of writing do you want to do? Articles for Dad's paper, to start. What do you want to write about? I paused, suddenly uncertain about how much to share. Dean's eyes were reassuring. When I know more, I'd like to write about deeper things.

Proofs of the week's paper were spread out on what I grandly called my desk. This was a rickety wooden table against the side wall outside the Editor's office.