They talk like angels but they live like men.

My native land is a slave of heathenism, men's god is their belly, and they live only for the present. The richer a man, the holier.

When the stomach is full, it is easy to talk of fasting

Being over seventy is like being engaged in a war. All our friends are going or gone and we survive amongst the dead and the dying as on a battlefield.

I am like the sick sheep that strays from the rest of the flock. Unless the Good Shepherd takes me on His shoulders and carries me back to His fold, my steps will falter, and in the very effort of rising, my feet will give way.

The tears of those repenting are the wine of angels.