“Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom You light the night, and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.”

Holy humility confounds pride and all the men of this world and all things that are in the world.

Holy poverty confounds cupidity and avarice and the cares of this world.

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Men lose all the material things they leave behind them in this world, but they carry with them the reward of their charity and the alms they give. For these, they will receive from the Lord the reward and recompense they deserve.

Lord, grant that I might not so much seek to be loved as to love.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

Holy wisdom confounds Satan and all his wickednesses.

Where there is injury let me sow pardon.

If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.

We should never desire to be over others. Instead, we ought to be servants who are submissive to every human being for God’s sake.

I am the herald of the Great King.

The Father willed that his blessed and glorious Son, whom he gave to us and who was born for us, should through his own blood offer himself as a sacrificial victim on the altar of the cross. This was to be done not for himself through whom all things were made, but for our sins.

Holy charity confounds all diabolical and fleshly temptations and all fleshly fears.

Praised be You, my Lord, with all Your creatures, especially Sir Brother Sun, Who is the day through whom You give us light. And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour; of You, Most High, he bears the likeness.

No one is to be called an enemy, all are your benefactors, and no one does you harm. You have no enemy except yourselves.

For it is in giving that we receive.

The mirror to the beautiful is beautiful.

Memories beautify life, but the capacity to forget makes it bearable.

I was the kind nobody thought could make it. I had a funny Boston accent. I couldn’t pronounce my R’s. I wasn’t a beauty.

Solitude produces originality, bold and astonishing beauty, poetry. But solitude also produces perverseness, the disproportianate, the absurd and the forbidden.

I was in disbelief that I’d just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me.

I don’t want to show my body to the ones, who often close their eyes, when it’s time to praise the beauty of my mind and soul.

I feel fine and comfortable with myself, but not because I’m beautiful.

There are as many styles of beauty as there are visions of happiness.