The more we train a man to labor, deliberate, dictate and demand over the inconsequential, the less capable his mind becomes of holding that of consequence.

Your suffering only matters if it connects you to the suffering of others, if it heals them too.

Without God, reality is madness. Reason will tell you so. You either madly trust in God, or you trust in a world gone mad without him.

When their minds mingle with His magnanimity, something of eternity rubs off on their imaginations.

In every human act of charity, something larger, greater, divine has come down to visit the act.

They want explanation, not faith; God gives them faith as the explanation.

Joy is that paradox where a man so trusts, is so enraptured, as to be caught up and lost in the other, while at the same time, being utterly known by the other, thus utterly himself.

In Joy, to lose one’s life is to gain it, and Joy never loses an opportunity to be lost in the other.

They think that if they had more belief they would pray more, so keep them lacking. Never let them realize that the opposite is true: If they prayed more, they would have more belief.

Somehow they fail to see that for someone aggravated by depression, self-help will be useless, indeed, it is precisely the self that needs to be forgotten.

Properly understood, Imagination and Prayer are directly proportional —the more they pray beyond their bounds, they expand their vision beyond their resources, their experiences, their expectations.

It is the sweat of the servants that make their squire look smart.

Let us be separated by wars and pestilence, death, madness but not by the passing of time.

If there are no barriers to cross or demons to slay to reach the desired destination, we will not call it a success.

There is nothing like living together for blinding people to each other.

Let me say first that reading is my favorite pastime, bar none. If I couldn't read, I don't know what I'd do. But as a writer, it's both a blessing and a curse. You absorb technique as you go along.

It is scarcely possible to doubt that the love of man has become instinctive in the dog.

When you have learned compassion for yourself, compassion for others is automatic.

I mean my father was killed when I was six. And I only have tiny, tiny flashes of memory.

A modicum of discord is the very spice of courtship.

No one could be still like Edward.