When I die, I will send down a shower of roses from the heavens,I will spend my heaven by doing good on earth. - Thérèse of Lisieux

Si la tela pintada por un artista pudiera pensar y hablar, ciertamente no se quejaría de ser tocada y retocada incesantemente por un pincel y tampoco envidiaría la suerte de este instrumento pues sabría que la belleza del que está revestida no se la debe al pincel sino al artista que lo mueve. Por su parte, el pincel no podría gloriarse de la obra maestra hecha por él, pues sabe que los artistas no se inquietan, se ríen de las dificultades y a veces se dan el gusto de elegir instrumentos endebles y defectuosos.

Each time that my enemy would provoke me to combat, I behave as a gallant soldier. I know that a duel is an act of cowardice, and so, without once looking him in the face, I turn my back on the foe, then I hasten to my Saviour, and vow that I am ready to shed my blood in witness of my belief in Heaven.

How can a heart given up to human affections be closely united to God? It seems to me that it is impossible. I have seen so many souls, allured by this false light, fly right into it like poor moths, and burn their wings, and then return, wounded, to Our Lord, the Divine fire which burns and does not consume.