Go to the poor, there you will find God.
If after so much effort and prayer, the matter is not successful, it will be a clear sign that God does not will it.
Furthermore, the apostolic life does not exclude contemplation but encompasses it and profits by it to know better the eternal truths it must proclaim.
All of you desire to belong entirely to God, and God also wants all of you to belong to Him.
The works of God are not accomplished when we wish them, but whenever it pleases Him.
Providence must call us and we must follow it, if we are to go forward confidently.
His Divine Goodness asks that we never do good in any place to make ourselves look important but that we always consider Him directly, immediately, and without intermediary in all our actions.
Go to the poor: you will find God.
Charity is certainly greater than any rule. Moreover, all rules must lead to charity.
Nobody speaks to me. People fall in love with me, and annoy me and distress me and flatter me and excite me and – and all that sort of thing. But no one speaks to me. I sometimes think that no one can. Can you?
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.
The poem is the thing. Is it interesting? – Is it beautiful? –Is it sublime? Then it was written by nobody. It exists by itself.
I met the wolf alone and was devoured in peace.
The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat – the sky Will cave in on him by and by.
PIERROT: Of course not. There never was. “Moon’s” just a word to swear by. “Mutton!“ – now there’s a thing you can lay the hands on, And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine: I always lied about the moon and you. Food is my only lust. COLUMBINE: Well, eat it, then, For Heaven’s sake, and stop your silly noise! I haven’t heard the clock tick for an hour.
A person who publishes a book wilfully appears before the populace with his pants down. –.
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
This summer has been so short, so small. I think that like “Alice” it ate the cake that said “Eat Me”, and dwindled and dwindled until it was so tiny that it ran out through the cracks under the door.
The most I ever did for you was to outlive you. But that is much.
I bleed, but know not wherefore, know not where.
We move in darkness, solemn and extreme.