The Greater Our Dread Of Crosses, The

The Past But Lives In Written Words: A Thousand Ages Were Blank If Books Had Not Evoked Their Ghosts, And Kept The Pale Unbodied Shades To Warn Us From Fleshless Lips.

Let Us Pray God That He Would Root Out Of Our Hearts Every Thing Of Our Own Planting, And Set Out There, With His Own Hands, The Tree Of Life, Bearing All Manner Of Fruits.

I Would Have No Desire Other Than To Accomplish Thy Will. Teach Me To Pray; Pray Thyself In Me.

If We Had Strength And Faith Enough To Trust Ourselves Entirely To God; And Follow Him Simply Wherever He Should Lead Us, We Should Have No Need Of Any Great Effort Of Mind To Reach Perfection.

It Is Often Our Own Imperfection Which Makes Us Reprove The Imperfection Of Others; A Sharp-sighted Self-love Of Others