I thought how sadly beauty of inscape was unknown and buried away from simple people and yet how near at hand it was if they had eyes to see it and it could be called out everywhere again.

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

The Best ideal is the true and other truth is none. All glory be ascribed to the holy Three in One.

And though we do have him before our eyes, masked in the Sacred Host, at mass and Benediction and within our lips receive him at communion, yet to hear of him and dwell on the thought of him will do us good.

Searching nature I taste self but at one tankard, that of my own being.