I Do Not Understand How A Man

The Love Of God Is Like Himself – Equal, Constant, Not Capable Of Augmentation Or Diminution; Our Love Is Like Ourselves – Unequal, Increasing, Waning, Growing, Declining. His, Like The Sun, Always The Same In Its Light, Though A Cloud May Sometimes Interpose; Ours, As The Moon, Has Its Enlargements And Straightenings.

The Least Grace Is A Better Security For Heaven Than The Greatest Gifts Or Privileges Whatsoever.

All Other Ways Of Mortification Are Vain, All Helps Leave Us Helpless; It Must Be Done By The Spirit.

Men Think All Things Would Be Very Glorious If They Might Be Done According To Their Mind. Perhaps, Indeed, They Would-but With Their Glory, Not The Glory Of God.

We Must Not Be Concerned Only With That Which Troubles Us, But With All That Troubles God.