It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Only real risk passes the reality of faith.

Everyone who believes in God at all believes that he knows what you and I are going to do tomorrow.

How incessant and great are the ills with which a prolonged old age is replete.

No man who says, 'I'm as good as you,' believes it. He would not say it if he did.

Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality.

Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear