“Cheerful givers do not count the cost of what they give.”

Pray, even if you feel nothing, see nothing. For when you are dry, empty, sick or weak, at such a time is your prayer most pleasing to God, even though you may find little joy in it. This is true of all believing prayer.

Every act of kindness and compassion done by any man for his fellow Christian is done by Christ working within him.

He that is highest and worthiest was most fully made-nought and most utterly despised.

This is our Lord’s will… that our prayer and our trust be, alike, large.

Our Lord is the ground from whom our prayer grows and in his love and grace he himself gives us our prayers.

For our soul is so preciously loved of him that is highest, that it over-passeth the knowing of all creatures.

He that made all things for love, by the same love keepeth them, and shall keep them without end.

All that is contrary to love and peace is of the Fiend and of his part.

It needeth us to have knowing of the littleness of creatures and to hold as nought all-thing that is made, for to love and have God that is unmade.

A great thing shall I make hereof in Heaven of endless worship and everlasting joys.

Anything less then God, ever me wanteth.

We need to fall, and we need to be aware of it; for if we did not fall, we should not know how weak and wretched we are of ourselves, nor should we know our Maker’s marvellous love so fully.

Charity keepeth us in Faith and Hope, and Hope leadeth us in Charity. And in the end all shall be Charity.

Wherefore me behoveth needs to grant that all-thing that is done, it is well-done: for our Lord God doeth all.

Prayer is the deliberate and persevering action of the soul. It is true and enduring, and full of grace. Prayer fastens the soul to God and makes it one with God’s will.

Our Savior is our true Mother in whom we are endlessly born and out of whom we shall never come.

The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings.

One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

As many times as it takes is the only count worth keeping.

When I love, I do it without counting. I give myself entirely. And each time, it is the grand love of my life.

Don’t count the number of friends you have, but the number of friends you can count on.

It is the poor man who’ll ever count his flock.