Justice (n.) was for the prophets the course of the holy order, not its source.
Justice (n.) was, for the prophets, no fixed rule but a wave surging up from God's inwardness.
Justice (n.) is no inherited custom or social agreement; it is something God himself requires, as if he needed it.
Justice (n.) is not one of God's paths but present in all of them, valid always and everywhere whatever anyone wants.
Justice (n.) is like breathing: nobody expects a prize for doing it.
Justice (n.) dies two ways: drained of humanity, however precise, or worshiped as a god, since God's compassion stands beyond it.
Justice (n.) may run on cold logic, but caring about it at all is an act of love.
Justice (n.) is the active work of mending whatever ought to offend our sense of injustice.
Justice (n.) is not a job for specialists; it is the one commandment nobody can hire a judge to keep for him.
Justice (n.) starts where a private wish becomes a claim on other people, and every claim brings a duty with it.
Justice (n.) must come as a healing force, like a flood on parched ground, when judges squint and scales wobble.
Justice (n.) in the prophets carries God's omnipotence, so what ought to be will be.
Justice (n.) is where God is exalted, a staggering claim since justice seems the least mysterious of all qualities.
Justice (n.) needs us the way bread never does: bread doesn't care if it is eaten, justice waits to be done.
Justice (n.) is invoked even by those who cry there is none in heaven, and a sense of justice cannot come from a source that lacks it.
Justice (n.) is a standard every law must meet to deserve the name; no tribe has ever declared hate a virtue.