Even If No Command To

Pure Love Is In The Will Alone; It Is No Sentimental Love, For The Imagination Has No Part In It; It Loves, If We May So Express It, Without Feeling, As Faith Believes Without Seeing.

So Long As We Are Full Of Self We Are Shocked At The Faults Of Others. Let Us Think Often Of Our Own Sin, And We Shall Be Lenient To The Sins Of Others.

It Is This Unquiet Self-love That Renders Us So Sensitive. The Sick Man, Who Sleeps Ill, Thinks The Night Long. We Exaggerate, From Cowardice, All The Evils Which We Encounter; They Are Great, But Our Sensibility Increases Them. The True Way To Bear Them Is To Yield Ourselves Up With Confidence To God.

All Wars Are Civil Ones; For It Is Still Man Spilling His Own Blood, Tearing Out His Own Bowels.

We Are Not To Choose The Manner In Which Our Blessings Shall Be Bestowed.