May God Protect Me From Gloomy Saints.

If We Plant A Flower Or A Shrub And Water It Daily It Will Grow So Tall That In Time We Shall Need A Spade And A Hoe To Uproot It. It Is Just So, I Think, When We Commit A Fault, However Small, Each Day, And Do Not Cure Ourselves Of It.

Christ Does Not Force Our Will, He Only Takes What We Give Him. But He Does Not Give Himself Entirely Until He Sees That We Yield Ourselves Entirely To Him.

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.

Prayer Is A Friendly Conversation With The One We Know Loves Us.

Christ Moves Along The Pots And Pans.