Blessed be He, Who came into the world for no other purpose than to suffer.

What friends or kindred can be so close and intimate as the powers of our soul, which, whether we will or no, must ever bear us company?

I don't know what heavy penance could have come to mind that frequently I would not have gladly undertaken rather than recollect myself in the practice of prayer.

A beginner must look on himself as one setting out to make a garden for his Lord's pleasure, on most unfruitful soil which abounds in weeds. His Majesty roots up the weeds and will put in good plants instead. Let us reckon that this is already done when the soul decides to practice prayer and has begun to do so.

I only wish I could write with both hands, so as not to forget one thing while I am saying another.

We bloomed in Spring. Our bodies are the leaves of God. The apparent seasons of life and death our eyes can suffer; but our souls, dear, I will just say this forthright: they are God Himself, we will never perish until He does.

All times are dangerous times.