Our soul can find in the Blessed Sacrament all the joys and consolations it desires.

Hope, O my soul, hope. You know neither the day nor the hour.

How is it that we do not die of love in seeing that God Himself could do no more than shed His divine blood for us drop by drop? When as man He was preparing for death, He made Himself our food in order to give us life. God becomes food, bread for his creatures. Is this not enough to make us die of love?

However softly we speak, God is near enough to hear us.

True love grows by sacrifice and the more thoroughly the soul rejects natural satisfaction the stronger and more detached its tenderness becomes.

Mental prayer is nothing else but being on terms of friendship with God, frequently conversing in secret with Him.

Contemplative prayer [oración mental] in my opinion is nothing else than a close sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with him who we know loves us.