Love Is The Beauty Of The Soul.

Hear, O God. Alas, For Man's Sin! So Saith Man, And Thou Pitiest Him; For Thou Madest Him, But Sin Is In Him Thou Madest Not. Who Remindeth Me Of The Sins Of My Infancy? For In Thy Sight None Is Pure From Sin, Not Even The Infant Whose Life Is But A Day Upon The Earth.

I Will Not Live An Instant That I Do Not Live In Love. Whoever Loves Does All Things Without Suffering, Or, Suffering, Loves His Suffering.

That There Should Be Some Fire Even After This Life Is Not Incredible, And It Can Be Inquired Into And Either Be Discovered Or Left Hidden Whether Some Of The Faithful May Be Saved, Some More Slowly And Some More Quickly In The Greater Or Lesser Degree In Which They Loved The Good Things That Perish, Through A Certain Purgatorial Fire.

The Honors Of This World, What Are They But Puff, And Emptiness, And Peril Of Falling?

We Come To God By Love And Not By Navigation.