To Love Someone Is To See A

There Is No Accident In Our Choice Of Reading. All Our Sources Are Related.

What I Fear Is Not Being Forgotten After My Death, But, Rather, Not Being Enough Forgotten. As We Were Saying, It Is Not Our Books That Survive, But Our Poor Lives That Linger In The Histories.

If The Flame Inside You Goes Out, The Souls That Are Next To You Will Die Of Cold.

If You Would Tell Me The Heart Of A Man, Tell Me Not What He Reads, But What He Rereads.

The Eucharist Engages Us Unreservedly; It Is A Pact Of Love, An Alliance Signed In The Deeper Recesses Of Our Being. All Our Potentialities Are Called Upon To Warrant The Protection And Fulfillment Of This Pact.