See, see Who God is, see the glory of God, going up to Him out of this incomprehensible and infinite Sacrifice in which all history begins and ends, all individual lives begin and end, in which every story is told, and finished, and settled for joy or for sorrow: the one point of reference for all the truths that are outside of God, their center, their focus: Love.

The art of our time, sacred art included, will necessarily be characterized by a certain poverty, grimness and roughness which correspond to the violent realities of a cruel age.

I am earth, earth My heart's love Bursts with hay and flowers. I am a lake of blue air In which my own appointed place Field and valley Stand reflected

The center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth.

We stumble and fall constantly, even when we are most enlightened.

No one is so wrong as the man who knows all the answers.

How can I be sincere if I am constantly changing my mind to conform with the shadow of what I think others expect of me?