His present position fills me with pity, his future with apprehension.
He is one of the modestest of men, almost shrinking in his diffidence and nervous self-distrust, an under-graduate who is mildly excited about an ingenious line of reasoning, a wit who loves to play tricks with the subtlety of a curiously agile brain, a casuist who sees quickly the chinks in the armour of an adversary.

But with all his boyishness, and charm, and humility, and engaging cleverness, there is a light in his eyes too feverish for peace of mind.

I cannot prevent myself from thinking that his secession, which was something of a comedy to his friends, may prove something of a tragedy to him.
He seems to me one of the most pathetic examples I ever encountered of the ruin wrought by Fear.

I think that the one motive of his life has been a constant terror of finding himself in the wrong.

The door, which for Dr.Inge has no key, because it has no lock, is to Ronald Knox a door of terror which opens only to a single key--and a door which as surely shuts out from eternal life the soul that is wrong as the soul that is wicked.