Saints spring and thrive most internally, when they are most externally afflicted. Afflictions are the mother of virtue.
Christ dwells in that heart most eminently that hath emptied itself of itself.
Cold prayers shall never have any warm answers.
Deliver me, O Lord, from that evil man, myself.
When afflictions arrest us, we shall murmur and grumble and struggle until we see that it is God that strikes.
In a storm there is no shelter like the wings of God.