My soul experienced a peace so sweet, so deep, it would be impossible to express it.

True charity consists in putting up with all one's neighbors faults; never being surprised by his weakness, and being inspired by the least of his virtues.

Miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smiling look, there by a kindly word; always doing the smallest right and doing it all for love.

A word or a smile is often enough to put fresh life in a despondent soul.

No harm can come to me since, in whatever happens, I see only the tender hand of Jesus.

Frequently, only silence can express my prayer.

I am simply content to find myself always imperfect, and in this I find my joy. Good deeds count as nothing, if done without love.

The science of loving, yes, that's the only kind of science I want I'd barter away everything I possess to win it.

The more one advances, the more one sees the goal is still far off. And now I am simply resigned to see myself always imperfect and in this I find my joy.

I want to give myself totally to Him...I want to live no longer but for Him.

Love is nourished only by sacrifices, and the more a soul refuses natural satisfactions, the stronger and more disinterested becomes her tenderness.

I know now that true charity consists in bearing all our neighbors' defects--not being surprised at their weakness, but edified at their smallest virtues.

In that first 'fusion' with Jesus (holy communion), it was my Heavenly Mother again who accompanied me to the altar for it was she herself who placed her Jesus into my soul.

Love proves itself by deeds, so how am I to show my love? Great deeds are forbidden me. The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love.

Let us love, since our heart is made for nothing else.

You heard me, only Friend whom I love. To ravish my heart, you became man. You shed your blood, what a supreme mystery!... And you still live for me on the Altar. If I cannot see the brilliance of your Face Or hear your sweet voice, O my God, I can live by your grace, I can rest on your Sacred Heart!

God has made me desire always what he most wants to give me.

The world's thy ship and not thy home.

If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell us quite simply all that God has done for it, without hiding any of its gifts. It would not, under the pretext of humility, say that it was not pretty, or that it had not a sweet scent, that the sun had withered its petals, or the storm bruised its stem, if it knew that such were not the case.

How can the good God Who loves us so much, be happy when we suffer? Never does our suffering make Him happy; but it is necessary for us, and so He sends it to us while, as it were, turning away His Face. . . I assure you that it costs Him dearly to fill us with bitterness.

If all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wildflowers.

It is only love which makes us acceptable to God.

Prayer is an aspiration of the heart, it is a simple glance directed to heaven, it is a cry of gratitude and love in the midst of trial as well as joy; finally, it is something great, supernatural, which expands my soul and unites it with Jesus.