A Good Critic Is The

The Grandeur Of Man Lies In Song, Not In Thought.

It Seems That, After Nineteen Centuries Of Extraordinary Glorification, The Small Host For Which So Many Cathedrals Have Sprung Up, The Small Host That Has Rested In Millions Of Breasts And That Has Found A Tabernacle And Worshippers Even In The Desert - It Seems That The Triumphant Host Of Lourdes And The Eucharistic Congresses Of Chicago And Carthage Remains As Unknown, As Secret As When It Appeared For The First Time In A Room In Jerusalem. Light Is In The World As In The Days Of St. John The Baptist, And The World Does Not Know It

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

This God Who, As The Psalmist Said, Built His Tabernacles In The Sun, Now Establishes Himself In The Very Core Of The Flesh And The Blood.

Human Love Is Often But The Encounter Of Two Weaknesses.