Hate is a prolonged form of suicide.
In intercessory prayer, one seldom ends where one began.
Prayer if it is real is an acknowledgment of our finitude, our need, our openness to be changed, our readiness to be surprised, yes, astonished by the "beams of love."
No one ever did anything worth doing unless they were prepared to go on with it long after it became something of a bore.
Work without contemplation is never enough.
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