What A Miserable Life Is This! There

Accustom Yourself Continually To Make Many Acts Of Love, For They Enkindle And Melt The Soul.

Untilled Soil, However Fertile It May Be, Will Bear Thistles And Thorns; So It Is With Man's Mind.

In Order That Love Be Fully Satisfied, It Is Necessary That It Lower Itself And That It Lower Itself To Nothingness And Transform This Nothingness Into Fire.

I Fully Realize That This Gratitude Of Mine Is Not In The Least A Sign Of Perfection: It Must Be My Nature - I Could Be Suborned With A Sardine.

The Custom Of Speaking To God Almighty As Freely As With A Slave - Caring Nothing Whether The Words Are Suitable Or Not, But Simply Saying The First Thing That Comes To Mind From Being Learnt By Rote By Frequent Repetition - Cannot Be Called Prayer: God Grant That No Christian May Address Him In This Manner.