There is no accident in our choice of reading. All our sources are related.

God does not answer our desperate questionings; he simply gives us himself.

The man who partakes in the breaking of the bread dares to build his house on the very core of love. He becomes, as it were, Godlike, but regardless of the strength he derives from it, his free will remains. We are always free to disown this immense grace, to abuse it. The Greatest Love may be betrayed. Fed on the Living Bread, we nevertheless conceal a part of ourselves which longs for swine's food.

Did you ever have a conversation with someone who misunderstood everything you had to say? It's exhausting, and the ironic part is that the more you try and explain yourself, the more mixed up things become. Your best friend knows when you're kidding, venting, and tired. He or she knows you and therefore doesn't read into the things you say.

We know well only what we are deprived of.

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

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