from last year, on his feast day:
Quotes from St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of writers:
"Every moment comes to us pregnant with a command from God, only to pass on and plunge into eternity, there to remain forever what we have made of it."
"Oh what remorse we shall feel at the end of our lives, when we look back upon the great number of instructions and examples afforded by God and the Saints for our perfection, and so carelessly received by us! If this end were to come to you today, how would you be pleased with the life you have led this year?"
"Some say it is unreasonable to be courteous and gentle with a reckless person who insults you for no reason at all. I have made a pact with my tongue; not to speak when my heart is disturbed."
"Lord, I am yours,
and I must belong to no one but you.
My soul is yours,
and must live only by you.
My will is yours,
and must love only for you.
I must love you as my first cause,
since I am from you.
I must love you as my end and rest,
since I am for you.
I must love you more than my own being,
since my being subsists by you.
I must love you more than myself,
since I am all yours and all in you. Amen."
And, look at this!
Daily de Sales!
I peeked ahead to my birthday, and found this incredible quote:
"You recognize thousands of imperfections and failings in yourself, contrary to your desire for purity and perfect love of God. In reply I say that it is not possible to avoid all of these. While we live on this earth, we have to put up with ourselves, until the day that God takes us to Heaven. Meanwhile, we can do no more than to keep a close watch on ourselves, and be patient. How can we correct in one day defects that we have contracted by our prolonged lack of diligence? Sometimes God has healed a person in an instant, without leaving a trace of his previous spiritual sickness. But in so many others He has left the scars of their conversion, for the greater benefit of their souls." (Letters 277; O. XIII, p. 19)
Scars. Oh, yes. He is perfect. Just perfect.