Forgiveness (n.) must carry the seriousness of the Judgment between lovers, not be a rampart each flees to in loving jest.
Forgiveness (n.) from the wronged is a court of first resort that cannot be ignored: it cannot justify one eternally, but it is part and parcel of the divine juridical procedure.
Forgiveness (n.) is an empty ceremony between two who do not understand one another — like a contract signed by one who cannot read, or a grant in answer to a petition by one who does not know what was asked.
Forgiveness (n.) can be the finest victory: Caesar complained that Cato's suicide robbed him of it, because he would have forgiven him.
Forgiveness (n.) is not forgiveness of one thing: a child thinks it is fundamentally nice "if only that thing yesterday had not occurred," and forgiveness takes that thing away; but if sin is radical — a discovery of repentance — immediacy itself is invalid.
Forgiveness (n.) hides much in a lover: his loyal wife discovers with bruised heart every insult he does not — and, finding no fault in him, only the more how many sinned against him; measure by that what his not-discovering hides.
Forgiveness (n.) takes away what cannot be denied as sin; silence takes nothing away and the extenuating explanation shows this or that was not sin — forgiveness is the most outstanding way love hides sins.
Forgiveness (n.) is faith turned around: as faith believes the invisible in the visible, the lover through forgiveness believes the visible away.
Forgiveness (n.) is rare because faith in its power is rare — "I'd gladly forgive him, but I don't see what good it does." No, it is not seen!
Forgiveness (n.) can be given in a way that increases the guilt instead of diminishing it — when being able to forgive makes one feel self-important.
Forgiveness (n.) puts the sin behind one's back — not hidden from the eyes, which means never seen, but behind the back, which means seen; turned lovingly toward the forgiven, one cannot see what lies behind.
Forgiveness (n.) withheld nourishes sin: an unforgiven sin cries for punishment and looks far greater, as a sore looks dreadful until the doctor drains it; a sin that persists is already a new sin.
Forgiveness (n.) is needed most by the one wronged: the wrongdoer needs to be forgiven, but the lover who suffered the wrong needs to forgive — Scripture bids you leave your gift at the altar when you remember your brother has something against you, not you against him.
Forgiveness (n.) asked — “Have you really forgiven me?” — the lover answers with “Do you now really love me?”: asking in the east and answering in the west, yet both say the same thing, until the other breaks himself of asking.
Forgiveness (n.) is forgivingness: the forgiveness you grant is the forgiveness you get — no closer agreement exists between the sky and its image in the sea, exactly as deep as it is high.
Forgiveness (n.) refused to others makes believing in your own an illusion — how can you believe in forgiveness when your own life argues that there is none?
Forgiveness (n.) given to others may be sold for nothing, but forgiving oneself the least thing is wrong, since one's own righteousness is worse than one's blackest private guilt.
Forgiveness (n.) once believed still makes the believer say, in the wonder of his soul, "it is impossible," the blessed refreshment of one brought near despair by its impossibility.
Forgiveness (n.) from Christ would not tire at the seventieth asking, or seven times seventy; heaven would sooner tire of bearing the stars.
Forgiveness (n.) rarely goes all the way: the forgiven enemy seldom becomes a neighbour, and the wall between you seldom actually comes down.