Carnal lust rules where there is no love of God.

Poetry is the Devil's wine.

Sin is believing the lie that you are self-created, self-dependent and self-sustained.

I was looking for something to love, for I was in love with loving, and I hated security and a smooth way, free from snares.

He who does little, but in a state to which God calls him, does more than he who labors much, but in a state which he has thoughtlessly chosen: a cripple limping in the right way is better than a racer out of it.

I had a clear idea about what time is till I was asked to explain it and ceased to understand it altogether as soon as I began explaining it.

What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught. Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me; and sure enough, I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers or jealousy, by suspicions and fear, by burst of anger and quarrels.