I am like God and God like me. I am as large as God. He is as small as I. He cannot above me nor I beneath him be.

The rose does not have a why; it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.

The name of Jesus is as ointment poured forth; It nourishes, and illumines, and stills the anguish of the soul.

God, whose love and joy are present everywhere, can't come to visit you unless you aren't there.

Springtime is at hand. When will you ever bloom, if not here and now?

A rose is but a rose, it blooms because it blooms; it thinks not of itself, nor asks if it is seen.

We keep so busy talking we are so keen to act that we forget that in the heart lies all we need untapped, intact.