“The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.”

When one loves, one does not calculate.

Our Lord needs from us neither great deeds nor profound thoughts. Neither intelligence nor talents. He cherishes simplicity.

It is love alone that counts.

What offends Him and what wounds His Heart is the lack of confidence…Your heart is made to love Jesus, to love Him passionately…We have only the short moments of our life to love Jesus!

I know now that true charity consists in bearing all our neighbors’defects–not being surprised at their weakness, but edified at their smallest virtues.

I am very far from practicing what I understand.

If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.

Sufferings gladly borne for others convert more people than sermons.

When we yield to discouragement it is usually because we give too much thought to the past and to the future.

Look at His adorable face. Look at His glazed and sunken eyes. Look at His wounds. Look Jesus in the Face. There, you will see how He loves us.

You cannot be half a saint; you must be a whole saint or no saint at all.

Trials help us detach ourselves from the earth; they make us look higher than this world.

Do not fear to tell Jesus that you love Him even without feeling it. That is the way to force Jesus to help you, to carry you like a little child too feeble to walk.

As the sun shines both on the cedar and the smallest flower, so the Divine sun illumines each soul.

For me, prayer is an upward leap of the heart, an untroubled glance towards heaven, a cry of gratitude and love which I utter from the depths of sorrow as well as from the heights of joy.

Look at Him while He is looking at you.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Words of praise, indeed, are almost as necessary to warm a child into a genial life as acts of kindness and affection. Judicious praise is to children what the sun is to flowers.

Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed.

She is December with imprinting traces of love daises on white canvas of life.

Love proves itself by deeds, so how am I to show my love? Great deeds are forbidden me. The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love.

As our Father makes many a flower to bloom unseen in the lonely desert, [let us] do all that we can do, as under God’s eye, though no other eye ever take note of it.

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowers That in the forest grew.

A flower grows where it is planted but love grows everywhere.