Love Makes Labour Light. Love Alone Gives

To Argue Over Who Is The More Noble Is Nothing More Than To Dispute Whether Dirt Is Better For Making Bricks Or For Making Mortar.

There Seem To Me A Great Many Blessings Which Come From True Poverty And I Should Be Sorry To Be Deprived Of Them.

When We Accept What Happens To Us And Make The Best Of It, We Are Praising God.

How Is It That We Do Not Die Of Love In Seeing That God Himself Could Do No More Than Shed His Divine Blood For Us Drop By Drop? When As Man He Was Preparing For Death, He Made Himself Our Food In Order To Give Us Life. God Becomes Food, Bread For His Creatures. Is This Not Enough To Make Us Die Of Love?

Life Is A Night Spent In An Uncomfortable Inn.