How Many Writers Are There... Who, Breaking

If We Insist On Being As Sure As Is Conceivable... We Must Be Content To Creep Along The Ground, And Never Soar.

Man Is Emphatically Self-made.

How Can We Feel Our Need Of His Help, Or Our Dependence On Him, Or Our Debt To Him, Or The Nature Of His Gift To Us, Unless We Know Ourselves.... This Is Why Many In This Age (and In Every Age) Become Infidels, Heretics, Schismatics, Disloyal Despisers Of The Church.... They Have Never Had Experience Of His Power And Love, Because They Have Never Known Their Own Weakness And Need.

A Cloud Of Incense Was Rising On High; The People Suddenly All Bowed Low; What Could It Mean? The Truth Flashed On Him, Fearfully Yet Sweetly; It Was The Blessed Sacrament - It Was The Lord Incarnate Who Was On The Altar, Who Had Come To Visit And Bless His People. It Was The Great Presence, Which Makes A Catholic Church Different From Every Other Place In The World; Which Makes It, As No Other Place Can Be - Holy.

It Is God Himself Who Can Be Discovered In The Beauty Of Sensible Things.