O Sacrament Of Love! O Sign Of

No One Knows What He Himself Is Made Of, Except His Own Spirit Within Him, Yet There Is Still Some Part Of Him Which Remains Hidden Even From His Own Spirit; But You, Lord, Know Everything About A Human Being Because You Have Made Him...let Me, Then, Confess What I Know About Myself, And Confess Too What I Do Not Know, Because What I Know Of Myself I Know Only Because You Shed Light On Me, And What I Do Not Know I Shall Remain Ignorant About Until My Darkness Becomes Like Bright Noon Before Your Face.

For What Is Faith Unless It Is To Believe What You Do Not See?

How High A Price We Pay For The Burden Of Habit! I Am Fitted For Life Here Where I Do Not Want To Be, I Want To Live There But Am Unfit For It, And On Both Counts I Am Miserable.

I Will Plant My Feet On That Step Where My Parents Put Me As A Child, Until Self-evident Truth Comes To Light.

In The Usual Course Of Study I Had Come To A Book Of A Certain Cicero.