Religion (n.) is nowadays an impersonal affair, an institutional loyalty, surviving on the level of activities rather than in the stillness of commitment.
Religion (n.) exists not to feed our appetite for symbols but to discipline it, sometimes to forbid it.
Religion (n.) starts at the very point where philosophy runs out: the sense of the ineffable.
Religion (n.) is, for Judaism, a reply rather than a feeling: an answer to the One who asks us to live a certain way.
Religion (n.) ends our isolation, and it begins when we sense that something is being asked of us.
Religion (n.) that chases fad and fashion eats up its tradition without drawing any renewal from it.
Religion (n.) has no islands: a betrayal by any one believer erodes the trust of every other.
Religion (n.) differ in creed and command, but the sigh, the sorrow, the conscience and the arrogance are the same in all of them.
Religion (n.) are the only parties not on speaking terms, though rival states and rival sciences talk all the time.
Religion (n.) is a means; worship it as the end and you have made an idol of it.
Religion (n.) taught as a school subject is dead, because the Bible's concern is all of life.
Religion (n.) begins in discontent and ends in joy, a standing critique of every satisfaction.
Religion (n.) was never refuted; it simply became dull, irrelevant and oppressive, and that was enough.
Religion (n.) cannot stay the same after Auschwitz and Hiroshima; every teaching must now be weighed in front of the camps and the mushroom cloud.
Religion (n.) is an unfinished task like humanity itself, and without prophetic demands it fossilizes.
Religion (n.) studied through definitions is a rose pressed in a book, dried proof of something that was alive.
Religion (n.) is no man-made canal dug for our needs; to judge it by its uses is like mistaking a river for navigation.
Religion (n.) is not a feeling or an episode but what happens between God and man across a whole life.
Religion (n.) shrinks the momentous to a detail by the light it casts.
Religion (n.) is less an inner event than an outer fact the soul meets.