If You Would Tell Me The Heart

There Is No Accident In Our Choice Of Reading. All Our Sources Are Related.

We Know Well Only What We Are Deprived Of.

A Writer Is Essentially A Man Who Does Not Resign Himself To Loneliness.

The Temples Of Those Who Deny The Real Presence Are Like Corpses. The Lord Was Taken Away And We Do Not Know Where They Have Laid Him.

Men Resemble Great Deserted Palaces: The Owner Occupies Only A Few Rooms And Has Closed-off Wings Where He Never Ventures.