A writer is essentially a man who does not resign himself to loneliness.
Human love is often but the encounter of two weaknesses.
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.
God does not answer our desperate questionings; he simply gives us himself.
Men resemble great deserted palaces: the owner occupies only a few rooms and has closed-off wings where he never ventures.
We know well only what we are deprived of.