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

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

The arrogance of poets is only a defense; doubt gnaws the greatest among them; they need our testimony to escape despair.

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

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.

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.

Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell.