The Human Race Is Inquisitive About Other

Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides. And When It Subsides You Have To Make A Decision. You Have To Work Out Whether Your Roots Have Become So Entwined Together That It Is Inconceivable That You Should Ever Part. Because This Is What Love Is. Love Is Not Breathlessness, It Is Not Excitement, It Is Not The Promulgation Of Promises Of Eternal Passion. That Is Just Being In Love Which Any Of Us Can Convince Ourselves We Are. Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being In Love Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.

Let Us Leave A Little Room For Reflection In Our Lives, Room Too For Silence. Let Us Look Within Ourselves And See Whether There Is Some Delightful Hidden Place Inside Where We Can Be Free Of Noise And Argument. Let Us Hear The Word Of God In Stillness And Perhaps We Will Then Come To Understand It.

Blessed Is He Who Devotes His Life To Great And Noble Ends, And Who Forms His Well-considered Plans With Deliberate Wisdom.

The Measure Of Love Is To Love Without Measuring.

Whoever, Therefore, Thinks That He Understands The Divine Scriptures Or Any Part Of Them So That It Does Not Build On The Double Love Of God And Of Our Neighbor Does Not Understand It At All. Thus A Man Supported By Faith, Hope, And Charity, With An Unshaken Hold Upon Them Does Not Need The Scriptures. . . And Many Live By These Three Things In Solitude Without Books.