Angels may be very excellent sort of folk in their own way, but we, poor mortals in our present state, would probably find them precious slow company.
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The angels are so enamoured of the language that is spoken in heaven, that they will not distort their lips with the hissing and unmusical dialects of men, but speak their own, whether there be any who understand it or not.
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The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they’re gone.
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“The soul at its highest is found like God, but an angel gives a closer idea of Him. That is all an angel is: an idea of God.”
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When the angels present themselves, the devils abscond.
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“We are like angels with just one wing. We can only fly by embracing each other.”
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