O Lord, may I never want to look good. O Jesus, may I always read it all: out loud and the very way it should be. May I never look at the other findings until I have come to my own true conclusions: May I care for the least of the young: and become aware of the one poem that each may have written; may I be aware of what each thing is, delighted with form, and wary of the false comparison; may I never use the word "brilliant."

Love is not love until love's vulnerable.

The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are Nothing.

By daily dying, I have come to be.

Love begets love. This torment is my joy.

What falls away is always. And is near.

What have I done, dear God, to deserve this perpetual feeling that I'm almost ready to begin something really new?