He Who Labours, Prays.

Love Is The Beauty Of The Soul.

For A Sentence Is Not Complete Unless Each Word, Once Its Syllables Have Been Pronounced, Gives Way To Make Room For The Next.

Every Infinity... Is Made Finite To God.

You Are My Lord, Because You Have No Need Of My Goodness.

It Is Easy To Want Things From The Lord And Yet Not Want The Lord Himself, As Though The Gift Could Ever Be Preferable To The Giver.