A man's passion for the mountain is, above all, his childhood which refuses to die.

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

A good critic is the sorcerer who makes some hidden spring gush forth unexpectedly under our feet.

Doubt is nothing but a trivial agitation on the surface of the soul, while deep down there is a calm certainty.

We know well only what we are deprived of.

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.