We know well only what we are deprived of.

The scapegoat has always had the mysterious power of unleashing man's ferocious pleasure in torturing, corrupting, and befouling.

A man's passion for the mountain is, above all, his childhood which refuses to die.

No love, no friendship, can cross the path of our destiny without leaving some mark on it forever.

It seems that, after nineteen centuries of extraordinary glorification, the small Host for which so many cathedrals have sprung up, the small Host that has rested in millions of breasts and that has found a tabernacle and worshippers even in the desert - it seems that the triumphant Host of Lourdes and the Eucharistic Congresses of Chicago and Carthage remains as unknown, as secret as when it appeared for the first time in a room in Jerusalem. Light is in the world as in the days of St. John the Baptist, and the world does not know it

If the flame inside you goes out, the souls that are next to you will die of cold.

The grandeur of man lies in song, not in thought.