“It is not enough for me to ask question; I want to know how to answer the one question that seems to encompass everything I face: What am I here for?”

Our age is one in which usefulness is thought to be the chief merit of nature; in which the attainment of power

To pray is to take notice of the wonder, to regain a sense of the mystery that animates all beings, the divine margin in all attainments.

The test of love is in how one relates not to saints and scholars but to rascals.

It is gratefulness which makes the soul great.

Remember that there is meaning beyond absurdity. Know that every deed counts, that every word is power…Above all, remember that you must build your life as if it were a work of art.

We use words as tools. We forget that words are a repository of the spirit. The tragedy of our times is that the vessels of the spirit are broken.

When religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion, its message becomes meaningless.

God cannot be sensed as a second thought, as an explanation of the origin of the universe. He is either the first and the last, or just another concept.

He who is satisfied has never truly craved, and he who craves for the light of God neglects his ease for ardor.

There is a war to wage against the vulgar, the glorification of the absurd, a war that is incessant, universal.

God is not a hypothesis derived from logical assumptions, but an immediate insight, self-evident as light. He is not something to be sought in the darkness with the light of reason. He is the light.

Mundus vult decipi’—the world wants to be deceived.

I did not ask for success; I asked for wonder.

Faith is an awareness of divine mutuality and companionship, a form of communion between God and man.

To sense a ray of God’s radiance in the jungles of history.

Forfeit your sense of awe, let your conceit diminish your ability to revere, and the universe becomes a market place for you.

When people say, ‘She’s got everything’, I’ve got one answer – I haven’t had tomorrow.

Won’t someone please answer my prayers before I’m old and gray. I’ve been lonely too long and all my family thinks I’m gay.

When you finally accept that it’s OK not to have answers and it’s OK not to be perfect, you realize that feeling confused is a normal part of what it is to be a human being.

It isn’t that there’s no right and wrong here. There’s no right.

All life long, the same questions, the same answers.

All that I have said and done, Now that I am old and ill, Turns into a question till I lie awake night after night And never get the answers right.

When a child asks you something, answer him, for goodness sake. But don’t make a production of it. Children are children, but they can spot an evasion faster than adults, and evasion simply muddles ’em.

What does it matter how long I pray, so long as my prayers are answered?