“My son, my daughter,
(…)Each word is one more union, one more closeness,
and as the soul feels looked upon, Grace begins its crafting.
If the gaze or word was sweet and benign, she says:
‘How beautiful, penetrating, gentle, melodious it was!
How not to love Him?’
If then it was a majestic Gaze or Word, blazing with Light,
she says:
What Majesty, what Greatness, what penetrating Light!
How small I feel! How miserable I am!
How much darkness in me before that light so blazing!’
If I wanted to tell you of the Power, the Grace,
the Good which my Word or Gaze brings,
how many books would I make you write.”