This God who, as the psalmist said, built His tabernacles in the sun, now establishes Himself in the very core of the flesh and the blood.

A cemetery saddens us because it is the only place of the world in which we do not meet our dead again.

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

This God who, as the psalmist said, built His tabernacles in the sun, now establishes Himself in the very core of the flesh and the blood.

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.

That is the mystery of grace: it never comes too late.

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