We are only syllables of the perfect Word.

The love for material things grows like a fungus in the soul and destroys the loveliness of the human heart utterly.

We are united to Him, we are one, and it is when His Passion becomes real to us, through experience and love, that we grow aware of His presence in us.

Powerful to alleviate, to delay, to camouflage, though money is, in the end it lets us down.

We are the mediocre, we are the half givers, we are the half lovers, we are the savourless salt. Break the hard crust of complacency. Quicken in us the sharp grace of desire.

Sometimes it may seem to us that there is no purpose in our lives, that going day after day for years to this office or that school or factory is nothing else but waste and weariness. But it may be that God has sent us there because but for us, Christ would not be there. If our being there means that Christ is there, that alone makes it worthwhile.

By his own will Christ was dependent on Mary during Advent: he was absolutely helpless; he could go nowhere but where she chose to take him; he could not speak; her breathing was his breath; his heart beat in the beating of her heart.... In the seasons of our Advent - waking, working, eating, sleeping, being - each breath is a breathing of Christ into the world.