After You Die, You Wear What You

Our Soul Can Find In The Blessed Sacrament All The Joys And Consolations It Desires.

Be Kind To All And Severe To Thyself.

Lord, How You Afflict Your Lovers! But Everything Is Small In Comparison To What You Give Them Afterwards.

O My God, What Must A Soul Be Like When It Is In This State! It Longs To Be All One Tongue With Which To Praise The Lord. It Utters A Thousand Pious Follies, In A Continuous Endeavor To Please Him Who Thus Possesses It.

We Bloomed In Spring. Our Bodies Are The Leaves Of God. The Apparent Seasons Of Life And Death Our Eyes Can Suffer; But Our Souls, Dear, I Will Just Say This Forthright: They Are God Himself, We Will Never Perish Until He Does.