As For The Demented, I

Dearest Jesus, Holy Child, Make Thee A Bed, Soft, Undefiled, Within My Heart, That It May Be A Quiet Chamber Kept For Thee.

Forgive Us Our Trespasses As We Forgive Them That Trespass Against Us.

Whatever Man Loves, That Is His God. For He Carries It In His Heart; He Goes About With It Night And Day; He Sleeps And Wakes With It, Be It What It May - Wealth Or Self, Pleasure Or Renown.

Works Indeed Are Good, And God Strictly Requires Them Of Us, But They Do Not Make Us Holy.

God Does Not Work Salvation For Fictitious Sinners. Be A Sinner And Sin Vigorously... Do Not For A Moment Imagine That This Life Is The Abiding Place Of Justice; Sin Must Be Committed.