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

What I fear is not being forgotten after my death, but, rather, not being enough forgotten. As we were saying, it is not our books that survive, but our poor lives that linger in the histories.

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

A good critic is the sorcerer who makes some hidden spring gush forth unexpectedly under our feet.

The temples of those who deny the Real Presence are like corpses. The Lord was taken away and we do not know where they have laid Him.

The Eucharist engages us unreservedly; it is a pact of love, an alliance signed in the deeper recesses of our being. All our potentialities are called upon to warrant the protection and fulfillment of this pact.

If you would tell me the heart of a man, tell me not what he reads, but what he rereads.