The real 'work' of prayer is to become silent and listen to the voice that says good things about me.

Learning to weep, learning to keep vigil, learning to wait for the dawn. Perhaps this is what it means to be human.

We have to keep asking ourselves: 'What does it all mean? What is God trying to tell us? How are we called to live in the midst of all this?' Without such questions our lives become numb and flat.

I have always felt that if I am very personal and connected with what I myself am living, my writing will transcend ecclesial boundaries.

When everything is dark, when we are surrounded by despairing voices, when we do not see any exits, then we can find salvation in a remembered love, a love which is not simply a recollection of a bygone past but a living force which sustains us in the present. Through memory, love transcends the limits of time and offers hope at any moment of our lives.

People with handicaps teach me that being is more important than doing, the heart is more important than the mind, and caring together is better than caring alone.

There are as many ways to pray as there are moments in life.