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

We are, all of us, molded and remolded by those who have loved us, and though that love may pass, we remain none the less their work--a work that very likely they do not recognize, and which is never exactly what they intended.

A writer is essentially a man who does not resign himself to loneliness.

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.

Let us be wary of ready-made ideas about cowardice and courage: the same burden weighs infinitely more heavily on some shoulders than on others.

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

Human love is often but the encounter of two weaknesses.