The More You Approach Infinity, The Deeper

Years Passed; And He Endured The Idleness Of His Intelligence And The Inertia Of His Heart.

Love Is A Springtime Plant That Perfumes Everything With Its Hope, Even The Ruins To Which It Clings.

In Her Enthusiasms She Had Always Looked For Something Tangible: She Had Always Loved Church For Its Flowers, Music For Its Romantic Words, Literature For Its Power To Stir The Passions And She Rebelled Before The Mysteries Of Faith Just As She Grew Ever More Restive Under Discipline, Which Was Antipathetic To Her Nature.

The True Poet For Me Is A Priest. As Soon As He Dons The Cassock, He Must Leave His Family.

Do Not Imagine You Can Exorcise What Oppresses You In Life By Giving Vent To It In Art.