I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
Nothing is more pathological in our pathological modernity than this disease of Christian pity.
We should be a mirror of being: we are God in miniature.
I should not believe in a God who does not dance.
The hour-hand of life.
The weak and the botched shall perish: first principle of our charity.