Great Grief Is A Divine

The Women Laughed And Wept; The Crowd Stamped Their Feet Enthusiastically, For At That Moment Quasimodo Was Really Beautiful. He Was Handsome — This Orphan, This Foundling, This Outcast.

Genius Is A Promontory Jutting Out Into The Infinite.

The Hand Which Moves Over The Dial Moves Also Among Souls.

Winter Is On My Head, But Eternal Spring Is In My Heart; I Breathe At This Hour The Fragrance Of The Lilacs, The Violets, And The Roses, As At Twenty Years Ago.

The First Proof Of Charity In A Priest, And Especially A Bishop, Is Poverty.