“We may speak of love and humility as the true flowers of spiritual growth; and they give off a wonderful scent, which benefits all those who come near.”

Life is a night spent in an uncomfortable inn.

Christ has no body now but mine. He prays in me, works in me, looks through my eyes, speaks through my words, works through my hands, walks with my feet and loves with my heart.

There seem to me a great many blessings which come from true poverty and I should be sorry to be deprived of them.

Let us remember that within us there is a palace of immense magnificence.

Each of us has a soul, but we forget to value it. We don’t remember that we are creatures made in the image of God. We don’t understand the great secrets hidden inside of us.

Let nothing disturb thee, let nothing affright thee. All things are passing. Patience obtains all things. He who has God has everything – God alone suffices.

If you fall sometimes, you must not be discouraged.

What a great favor God does to those He places in the company of good people!

Do not think you have gained a virtue unless you have first been tried by its opposite.

Blessed be He, Who came into the world for no other purpose than to suffer.

Teach by works more than words.

The life of the spirit is not our life, but the life of God within us.

Never affirm anything unless you are sure it is true.

What peace can we hope to find elsewhere if we have none within us.

Christ does not force our will, He only takes what we give Him. But He does not give Himself entirely until He sees that we yield ourselves entirely to Him.

Always think of yourself as everyone’s servant; look for Christ Our Lord in everyone and you will then have respect and reverence for them all.

Many a humble soul will be amazed to find that the seed it sowed in weakness, in the dust of daily life, has blossomed into immortal flowers under the eye of the Lord.

How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.

There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.

Not all flowers bloom in April.

The forties and fifties were years of high poet-incense; the language-flowers were thickly sweet. Those flowers whined and begged white folks to pick them, to find them lovable. Then the ’60s: Independent fire!

Empty. Like a vase without flowers – it felt.

For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.

Thanks Darling for the beautiful flowers and all the prayers. Now can you just get my puppy past security?