Heaven for me is hidden in a little Host Where Jesus, my Spouse, is veiled for love. I go to that Divine Furnace to draw out life, And there my Sweet Saviour listens to me night and day.

The country in which I live is not my native country, that lies elsewhere, and it must always be the center of my longings.

Love consumes us only in the measure of our self-surrender.

My soul experienced a peace so sweet, so deep, it would be impossible to express it.

I say nothing to him I love him

(On entering Carmel) I came to save souls and especially to pray for priests.

If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell us quite simply all that God has done for it, without hiding any of its gifts. It would not, under the pretext of humility, say that it was not pretty, or that it had not a sweet scent, that the sun had withered its petals,or the storm bruised its stem, if it knew that such were not the case.