“And do you not think that the great Saints, on their side, seeing what they owe to all little souls, will love them with a love beyond compare?  The friendships of Paradise will be both sweet and full of surprise, of this I am certain.  The familiar friend of an Apostle, or of a great Doctor of the Church, may be a shepherd boy, and a simple little child may be united in closest intimacy with a Patriarch. . . .  I long to enter that Kingdom of Love!”

* * * * * *

“Believe me, the writing of pious books, the composing of the sublimest poetry, all that does not equal the smallest act of self-denial.  When, however, our inability to do good gives us pain, our only resource is to offer up the good works of others, and in this lies the benefit of the Communion of Saints.  Recall to mind that beautiful verse of the canticle of our Father, St. John of the Cross: 

’Return, my dove!  See on the height The wounded Hart, To whom refreshment brings The breeze, stirred by thy wings.’

“Thus the Spouse, the wounded Hart, is not attracted by the height, but only by the breeze from the pinions of the dove—­a breeze which one single stroke of wing is sufficient to create.”

* * * * * *

“The one thing which is not open to envy is the lowest place.  Here alone, therefore, there is neither vanity nor affliction of spirit.  Yet, ’the way of a man is not his own,’[6] and sometimes we find ourselves wishing for what dazzles.  In that hour let us in all humility take our place among the imperfect, and look upon ourselves as little souls who at every instant need to be upheld by the goodness of God.  From the moment He sees us fully convinced of our nothingness, and hears us cry out:  ’My foot stumbles, Lord, but Thy Mercy is my strength,’[7] He reaches out His Hand to us.  But, should we attempt great things, even under pretext of zeal, He deserts us.  It suffices, therefore, to humble ourselves, to bear with meekness our imperfections.  Herein lies—­for us—­true holiness.”

* * * * * *

One day I was complaining of being more tired than my Sisters, for, besides the ordinary duties, I had other work unknown to the rest.  Soeur Therese replied: 

“I should like always to see you a brave soldier, never grumblng at hardships, but considering the wounds of your companions as most serious, and your own as mere scratches.  You feel this fatigue so much because no one is aware of it.

“Now the Blessed Margaret Mary, at the time she had two whitlows, confessed that she really suffered from the hidden one only.  The other, which she was unable to hide, excited her Sisters’ pity and made her an object of compassion.  This is indeed a very natural feeling, the desire that people should know of our aches and pains, but in giving way to it we play the coward.”

* * * * * *

“When we are guilty of a fault we must never attribute it to some physical cause, such as illness or the weather.  We must ascribe it to our own imperfections, without being discouraged thereby.  ‘Occasions do not make a man frail, but show what he is.’"[8]