“Faith is not a thing which one 'loses, ' we merely cease to shape our lives by it.”
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It is the perpetual dread of fear, the fear of fear, that shapes the face of a brave man.
Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.
Purity is not imposed upon us as though it were a kind of punishment, it is one of those mysterious but obvious conditions of that supernatural knowledge of ourselves in the Divine, which we speak of as faith. Impurity does not destroy this knowledge, it slays our need for it.
Hell, madam, is to love no longer.