If You Would Tell Me The Heart

Tell Me What You Read And I'll Tell You Who You Are Is True Enough, But I'd Know You Better If You Told Me What You Reread.

What I Fear Is Not Being Forgotten After My Death, But, Rather, Not Being Enough Forgotten. As We Were Saying, It Is Not Our Books That Survive, But Our Poor Lives That Linger In The Histories.

The Temples Of Those Who Deny The Real Presence Are Like Corpses. The Lord Was Taken Away And We Do Not Know Where They Have Laid Him.

That Is The Mystery Of Grace: It Never Comes Too Late.

The Man Who Partakes In The Breaking Of The Bread Dares To Build His House On The Very Core Of Love. He Becomes, As It Were, Godlike, But Regardless Of The Strength He Derives From It, His Free Will Remains. We Are Always Free To Disown This Immense Grace, To Abuse It. The Greatest Love May Be Betrayed. Fed On The Living Bread, We Nevertheless Conceal A Part Of Ourselves Which Longs For Swine's Food.