A Cemetery Saddens Us Because It Is

No Love, No Friendship, Can Cross The Path Of Our Destiny Without Leaving Some Mark On It Forever.

It Seems That, After Nineteen Centuries Of Extraordinary Glorification, The Small Host For Which So Many Cathedrals Have Sprung Up, The Small Host That Has Rested In Millions Of Breasts And That Has Found A Tabernacle And Worshippers Even In The Desert - It Seems That The Triumphant Host Of Lourdes And The Eucharistic Congresses Of Chicago And Carthage Remains As Unknown, As Secret As When It Appeared For The First Time In A Room In Jerusalem. Light Is In The World As In The Days Of St. John The Baptist, And The World Does Not Know It

The Grandeur Of Man Lies In Song, Not In Thought.

The Arrogance Of Poets Is Only A Defense; Doubt Gnaws The Greatest Among Them; They Need Our Testimony To Escape Despair.

Men Resemble Great Deserted Palaces: The Owner Occupies Only A Few Rooms And Has Closed-off Wings Where He Never Ventures.