Christ has not only spoken to us by his life but has also spoken for us by his death.

This is what is sad when one contemplates human life, that so many live out their lives in quiet lostness...they live, as it were, away from themselves and vanish like shadows. Their immortal souls are blown away, and they are not disquieted by the question of its immortality, because they are already disintegrated before they die.

It seems essential, in relationships and all tasks, that we concentrate only on what is most significant and important.

This, then, is the ultimate paradox of thought: to want to discover something that thought itself cannot think.

To grumble about the world and its unhappiness is always easier than to beat one's breast and groan over oneself.

Take a book, the poorest one written, but read it with the passion that it is the only book you will read. Ultimately, you will read everything out of it, that is, as much as there was in yourself, and you could never get more out of reading, even if you read the best of books.

God does not think; he creates. He does not exist; he is eternal.