In an age of hope men looked up at the night sky and saw “the heavens." In an age of hopelessness they call it simply “space.

When you give yourself away you find that a new and more real self has somehow been given to you.

Since we are [Christ's] body, we too are the bread that is broken for others. Our failures help heal other lives; our very tears help wipe away tears; our being hated helps those we love.

To many moderns, [love] is something that is only a part of us rather than something of which we are a part.

True love, unlike popular sentimental substitutes, is willing to suffer. Love is not "luv." Love is the cross. Our problem at first, the sheer problem of suffering, was a cross without Christ. We must never fall into the opposite and equal trap of a Christ without a cross.

The eye of the poet sees less clearly, but sees farther than the eye of the scientist.

Our culture has filled our heads but emptied our hearts, stuffed our wallets but starved our wonder. It has fed our thirst for facts but not for meaning or mystery. It produces "nice" people, not heroes.