This place stinks of God!
How could we know what God wants to do with us when we cannot even know what we are nor who we are?
There is no human being on earth capable of declaring with certitude who he is. No one knows what he has come into this world to do, what his acts correspond to, his sentiments, his ideas, or what his real name is, his enduring Name in the register of Light…History is an immense liturgical text where iotas and dots are worth no less than the entire verse or chapters, but the importance of one and the other is indeterminable, and profoundly hidden.
Love does not make you weak, because it is the source of all strength, but it makes you see the nothingness of the illusory strength on which you depended before you knew it.
The Eiffel Tower is a truly tragic street lamp.
My existence is a sad country where it is always raining….
My only recourse is the expedient of placing at the service of truth what has been given me by the Father of Lies.
We suffer from that which does not exist. That which is does not cause suffering.
There are places in the heart that do not yet exist; suffering has to enter in for them to come to be.
Suffering passes, but the fact of having suffered never passes.
Consider that Jesus suffered in His heart with all the knowledge of a God, and that in His heart there was every human heart and every form of suffering from Adam until the consummation of the world. Ah yes, to suffer for others can be a great joy if one has a generous soul, but to suffer in others is to really suffer!
Freedom is the respect God has for us.
The worst evil is not the crime committed, but the failure to do the good one might have done.
Any Christian who is not a hero is a pig.
I die of the need of justice.
I pray like a robber asking alms at the door of a farmhouse to which he is ready to set fire.
I am simply a poor man who seeks his God, sobbing and calling Him along all roads.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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