He Cannot Have God For

Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides. And When It Subsides You Have To Make A Decision. You Have To Work Out Whether Your Roots Have Become So Entwined Together That It Is Inconceivable That You Should Ever Part. Because This Is What Love Is. Love Is Not Breathlessness, It Is Not Excitement, It Is Not The Promulgation Of Promises Of Eternal Passion. That Is Just Being In Love Which Any Of Us Can Convince Ourselves We Are. Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being In Love Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.

The Honors Of This World, What Are They But Puff, And Emptiness, And Peril Of Falling?

The Angels Surround And Help The Priest When He Is Celebrating Mass.

Oh, Beauty, Ever Ancient And Ever New.

The One Who Sings, Prays Twice.