An Offense (n.) may lie not in breaking off but in having dared to fall in love with a view of life like his.
An Offense (n.) guards the approach to the Christian way: whoever calls Christianity the highest and omits offense is like John the Baptist dressing as a dandy.
An Offense (n.) at Christ was not only the ungodly's: the best and kindliest man who ever lived must, humanly speaking, be offended at Him.
An Offense (n.) is the antidote to the sleeping potion of apologetics: now that a fallen Christianity has married human reason and they are on familiar terms, only the possibility of offense can break the enchantment.
Offense (n.) is the unhappy love of the understanding for the paradox.
Offense (n.) is always passive, however loudly it acts: its apparent agility is like the suppleness of one whose back is broken.
Offense (n.) does not speak with its own voice but with the paradox's, like a mimic — an acoustic illusion; the more passionate the offence, the more it owes to the paradox.
Offense (n.) gets its best lines from believers: Tertullian, Hamann and Luther held to the paradox, yet spoke as if offended — the paradox takes the bread from offence's mouth.