Cardinals Best Quotes

He thinks, the cardinal would have known how best to manage this. Wolsey always said, work out what people want, and you might be able to offer it; it is not always what you think, and may be cheap to supply.

Napoleon Bonaparte once taunted a Catholic cardinal by threatening: “Your Eminence, are you not aware that I have the power to destroy the Catholic Church?” To which the cardinal quipped: “Your Majesty, we Catholic clergy have done our best to destroy the Church for the last eighteen hundred years. We have not succeeded, and neither will you.

It is always best when discussing serious matters to do so around a teapot.

My cardinal belief is that it is the natives of the land that till the land best, with passion and meaning. The advanced nations of this world built their countries by the sweat of their indigenes.

You don't need to be Blind Loyal. Having the best interest of that person in your heart shouldn't stop you from constantly giving feedback.

Wanting to be the best in what you do but unwilling to be slain by critics on the way to your top is a recipe to remain mediocre...

Of two quite lofty things, measure and moderation, it is best never to speak. A few know their force and significance, from the mysterious paths of inner experiences and conversions: they honor in them something quite godlike, and are afraid to speak aloud. All the rest hardly listen when they are spoken about, and think the subjects under discussion are tedium and mediocrity.

Says the Cardinal: "Freethought leads to Atheism, to the destruction of social and civil order, and to the overthrow of government." I accept the gentleman's statement; I credit him with much intellectual acumen for perceiving that which many freethinkers have failed to perceive: accepting it, I shall do my best to prove it, and then endeavor to show that this very iconoclastic principle is the salvation of the economic slave and the destruction of the economic tyrant. ... Hence the freethinker who recognizes the science of astronomy, the science of mathematics, and the equally positive and exact science of justice, is logically forced to the denial of supreme authority. For no human being who observes and reflects can admit a supreme tyrant and preserve his self-respect. No human mind can accept the dogma of divine despotism and the doctrine of eternal justice at the same time; they contradict each other, and it takes two brains to hold them. The cardinal is right: freethought does logically lead to atheism, if by atheism he means the denial of supreme authority.

The best way to recognize that we are wealthy is to look at the definition and observe the cardinal signs of wealth. It is possible to be wealthy and not be aware of that; because we have wrongly set our goals and priorities to life pursuit.

In 1616, a pope and a cardinal inquisitor reprimanded Galileo, warning him to curtail his forays into the supernal realms. The motions of the heavenly bodies, they said, having been touched upon in the Psalms, the Book of Joshua, and elsewhere in the Bible, were matters best left to the Holy Fathers of the Church.

The Second Vatican Council, much influenced by Newman’s thinking, spoke of the assent of the mind and will to Catholic doctrine, even if all dimensions of a doctrine are not understood. Without such assent, we try to meet God on our terms rather than His. This is futile at best and spiritually destructive at worst.

Chang believed that learning was dangerous and best suited for private contemplation, not something to put in the service of the highest bidder- as the Institute did, in thrall to the patronage of men with blind dreams of empire. Society was not bettered by such men of "vision" - though, if Chang was honest, was it bettered by anyone?

He has PTSD eyes, although he does his level best to hide them with humour. I’ve seen them before and I’ll see them again and again before this thing ends—brown, green, blue, big, small, smiling, bloodshot. PTSD eyes somehow have the look of a dog that’s been left alone outside for weeks in a yard that’s been concreted over. PTSD are quick to tears.

When you get obsessed about yourself and remain busy in promoting yourself, you will quickly learn that people forgot about you the moment you were out of their sight. On the other hand, when you put other’s interest in your heart and give your best to serve them wholeheartedly, prepare to be surprised that you earned a special and lasting place in their heart.

Moreover, the Cardinal de Bourbon was a handsome man,—he wore a fine scarlet robe, which he carried off very well,—that is to say, he had all the women on his side, and, consequently, the best half of the audience. Assuredly, it would be injustice and bad taste to hoot a cardinal for having come late to the spectacle, when he is a handsome man, and when he wears his scarlet robe well.

The fisherman-painter has the best of the bargain as far as the weather goes, for the weather that is too bright for the trout deluges his hills and his sea with floods of radiant colour; the rain that interrupts picture-making puts water into the rivers and the lochs and sends him hopefully forth with rod and creel; while on cold dull days, when there is neither purple on the hills nor fly on the river, he can join a friendly party in a cosy bar and exchange information about Cardinals and March Browns, and practise making intricate knots in gut.

There are some strange cold people in this world. It is priests, I think. Saving your presence. Training themselves out of natural feeling. They mean it for the best, of course.’ ‘It was not a mistake. We did have a year. I think of her every day.’ The door opens; it is Alice bringing in lights. ‘This is your daughter?’ Rather than explain his family, he says, ‘This is my lovely Alice. This is not your job, Alice?’ She bobs, a small genuflection to a churchman. ‘No, but Rafe and the others want to know what you are talking about so long. They are waiting to know if there will be a dispatch to the cardinal tonight. Jo is standing by with her needle and thread.’ ‘Tell them I will write in my own hand, and we will send it tomorrow.

Now, to be sure, Mrs Varden thought, here is a perfect character. Here is a meek, righteous, thoroughgoing Christian, who, having mastered all these qualities, so difficult of attainment; who, having dropped a pinch of salt on the tails of all the cardinal virtues, and caught them everyone; makes light of their possession, and pants for more morality. For the good woman never doubted (as many good men and women never do), that this slighting kind of profession, this setting so little store by great matters, this seeming to say, ‘I am not proud, I am what you hear, but I consider myself no better than other people; let us change the subject, pray’—was perfectly genuine and true. He so contrived it, and said it in that way that it appeared to have been forced from him, and its effect was marvellous. Aware of the impression he had made—few men were quicker than he at such discoveries—Mr Chester followed up the blow by propounding certain virtuous maxims, somewhat vague and general in their nature, doubtless, and occasionally partaking of the character of truisms, worn a little out at elbow, but delivered in so charming a voice and with such uncommon serenity and peace of mind, that they answered as well as the best. Nor is this to be wondered at; for as hollow vessels produce a far more musical sound in falling than those which are substantial, so it will oftentimes be found that sentiments which have nothing in them make the loudest ringing in the world, and are the most relished.

Tying his flatbed up on the bank of the Licking River, securing it the best he could, he caught sight of something red on its bottom. Reaching for it, he thought it was a cardinal feather stuck to his boat. He tugged and what came loose in his hand was a red ribbon knotted around a curl of wet woolly hair, clinging still to its bit of scalp. He untied the ribbon and put it in his pocket, dropped the curl in the weeds. On the way home, he stopped, short of breath and dizzy. He waited until the spell passed before continuing on his way. A moment later, his breath left him again. This time he sat down by a fence. Rested, he got to his feet, but before he took a step he turned to look back down the road he was traveling and said, to its frozen mud and the river beyond, “What are these people? You tell me, Jesus. What are they?” When

Whatever he thought about her personally—she wasn’t sure—his fretting and worry were endearing. She realized that she herself was feeling the strain, living constantly with the ice-cold secret. Goaded by anger at first, she had fallen into her new role, a different role. She had pushed herself for the Americans because she trusted them, they cared for her, they were professionals. But especially for Nate. Part of what Dominika was doing was for him, she realized. If he had asked her, she would have told him she had no thought of quitting. She was determined and focused. But right now she needed something more than the rush of deception, of the knowledge that her will was stronger than all others’, that she was besting the Gray Cardinals. She needed to be needed. By him. She could feel her secret self open the hurricane-room door and step outside. Dominika put her hands on the arms of Nate’s chair, bent over, and kissed him on the lips.

I brushed my teeth like a crazed lunatic as I examined myself in the mirror. Why couldn’t I look the women in commercials who wake up in a bed with ironed sheets and a dewy complexion with their hair perfectly tousled? I wasn’t fit for human eyes, let alone the piercing eyes of the sexy, magnetic Marlboro Man, who by now was walking up the stairs to my bedroom. I could hear the clomping of his boots. The boots were in my bedroom by now, and so was the gravelly voice attached to them. “Hey,” I heard him say. I patted an ice-cold washcloth on my face and said ten Hail Marys, incredulous that I would yet again find myself trapped in the prison of a bathroom with Marlboro Man, my cowboy love, on the other side of the door. What in the world was he doing there? Didn’t he have some cows to wrangle? Some fence to fix? It was broad daylight; didn’t he have a ranch to run? I needed to speak to him about his work ethic. “Oh, hello,” I responded through the door, ransacking the hamper in my bathroom for something, anything better than the sacrilege that adorned my body. Didn’t I have any respect for myself? I heard Marlboro Man laugh quietly. “What’re you doing in there?” I found my favorite pair of faded, soft jeans. “Hiding,” I replied, stepping into them and buttoning the waist. “Well, c’mere,” he said softly. My jeans were damp from sitting in the hamper next to a wet washcloth for two days, and the best top I could find was a cardinal and gold FIGHT ON! T-shirt from my ‘SC days. It wasn’t dingy, and it didn’t smell. That was the best I could do at the time. Oh, how far I’d fallen from the black heels and glitz of Los Angeles. Accepting defeat, I shrugged and swung open the door. He was standing there, smiling. His impish grin jumped out and grabbed me, as it always did. “Well, good morning!” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist. His lips settled on my neck. I was glad I’d spritzed myself with Giorgio. “Good morning,” I whispered back, a slight edge to my voice. Equal parts embarrassed at my puffy eyes and at the fact that I’d slept so late that day, I kept hugging him tightly, hoping against hope he’d never let go and never back up enough to get a good, long look at me. Maybe if we just stood there for fifty years or so, wrinkles would eventually shield my puffiness. “So,” Marlboro Man said. “What have you been doing all day?” I hesitated for a moment, then launched into a full-scale monologue. “Well, of course I had my usual twenty-mile run, then I went on a hike and then I read The Iliad. Twice. You don’t even want to know the rest. It’ll make you tired just hearing about it.” “Uh-huh,” he said, his blue-green eyes fixed on mine. I melted in his arms once again. It happened any time, every time, he held me. He kissed me, despite my gold FIGHT ON! T-shirt. My eyes were closed, and I was in a black hole, a vortex of romance, existing in something other than a human body. I floated on vapors. Marlboro Man whispered in my ear, “So…,” and his grip around my waist tightened. And then, in an instant, I plunged back to earth, back to my bedroom, and landed with a loud thud on the floor. “R-R-R-R-Ree?” A thundering voice entered the room. It was my brother Mike. And he was barreling toward Marlboro Man and me, his arms outstretched. “Hey!” Mike yelled. “W-w-w-what are you guys doin’?” And before either of us knew it, Mike’s arms were around us both, holding us in a great big bear hug. “Well, hi, Mike,” Marlboro Man said, clearly trying to reconcile the fact that my adult brother had his arms around him. It wasn’t awkward for me; it was just annoying. Mike had interrupted our moment. He was always doing that.

crucial that we acknowledge two cardinal truths. First, whining and complaining about unfavorable conditions does nothing to resolve them. Second, it can too easily introduce a host of negative emotions that result in further despair and disappointment. Maintaining a positive mindset is pivotal to facing adversity with courage. Each morning, reflect on things that have gone right for you. Each afternoon, think about everything you have for which to be thankful. Each evening, before you go to bed, contemplate the small victories you enjoyed throughout the day. Practice gratitude daily. Habit #5: Build a tolerance for change. Mental toughness requires that you be flexible to your circumstances. When things go wrong, you must be able to adapt in order to act with purpose. Most of us dread change. We enjoy predictability because it reduces uncertainty. Fear of uncertainty is one of the chief impediments to taking purposeful action. Building this habit entails leaving your comfort zone. It calls for actively seeking changes that you can incorporate into your life. The upside is that doing so will desensitize you to changing circumstances, increasing your tolerance for them. As your tolerance increases, your fear will naturally erode. The great thing about habit development is that you can advance at your own pace. Again, it’s best to start with small steps and progress slowly. But each of us is different with regard to what “small” and “slowly” mean. Design a plan that aligns with your existing routines and caters to your available time, attention, and energy. EXERCISE #6 Write down three habits you’d like to develop. Next to each one, write down

Trying to get to 124 for the second time now, he regretted that conversation: the high tone he took; his refusal to see the effect of marrow weariness in a woman he believed was a mountain. Now, too late, he understood her. The heart that pumped out love, the mouth that spoke the Word, didn't count. They came in her yard anyway and she could not approve or condemn Sethe's rough choice. One or the other might have saved her, but beaten up by the claims of both, she went to bed. The whitefolks had tired her out at last. And him. Eighteen seventy-four and whitefolks were still on the loose. Whole towns wiped clean of Negroes; eighty-seven lynchings in one year alone in Kentucky; four colored schools burned to the ground; grown men whipped like children; children whipped like adults; black women raped by the crew; property taken, necks broken. He smelled skin, skin and hot blood. The skin was one thing, but human blood cooked in a lynch fire was a whole other thing. The stench stank. Stank up off the pages of the North Star, out of the mouths of witnesses, etched in crooked handwriting in letters delivered by hand. Detailed in documents and petitions full of whereas and presented to any legal body who'd read it, it stank. But none of that had worn out his marrow. None of that. It was the ribbon. Tying his flatbed up on the bank of the Licking River, securing it the best he could, he caught sight of something red on its bottom. Reaching for it, he thought it was a cardinal feather stuck to his boat. He tugged and what came loose in his hand was a red ribbon knotted around a curl of wet woolly hair, clinging still to its bit of scalp. He untied the ribbon and put it in his pocket, dropped the curl in the weeds. On the way home, he stopped, short of breath and dizzy. He waited until the spell passed before continuing on his way. A moment later, his breath left him again. This time he sat down by a fence. Rested, he got to his feet, but before he took a step he turned to look back down the road he was traveling and said, to its frozen mud and the river beyond, "What are these people? You tell me, Jesus. What are they?" When he got to his house he was too tired to eat the food his sister and nephews had prepared. He sat on the porch in the cold till way past dark and went to his bed only because his sister's voice calling him was getting nervous. He kept the ribbon; the skin smell nagged him, and his weakened marrow made him dwell on Baby Suggs' wish to consider what in the world was harmless. He hoped she stuck to blue, yellow, maybe green, and never fixed on red. Mistaking her, upbraiding her, owing her, now he needed to let her know he knew, and to get right with her and her kin. So, in spite of his exhausted marrow, he kept on through the voices and tried once more to knock at the door of 124. This time, although he couldn't cipher but one word, he believed he knew who spoke them. The people of the broken necks, of fire-cooked blood and black girls who had lost their ribbons. What a roaring.

The best revenge to get on your distractors is taking the high road. Avoid playing their game, following their murky rules.

When you get obsessed about yourself and remain busy in promoting yourself, you will quickly learn to that people forgot about you the moment you were out of their sight. On the other hand, when you put other’s interest in your heart and give your best to serve them wholeheartedly, prepare to be surprised that you earned a special and lasting place in their heart.

The best way to waste your potential is to cry over those things you don't have, and things you cannot do.

Wake him or put a bullet through his brain. No one will protest. Or leave him—but I suggest choosing, my dear. I have learned it is best to be haunted by one’s actions rather than one’s lack of them.

I always said that the only team that I would coach would be a team of orphans, and now here we are. The reason for me saying this is that I have found the biggest problem with youth sports has been the parents. I think that it is best to nip this in the bud right off the bat. I think the concept that I am asking all of you to grab is that this experience is ALL about the boys. If there is anything about it that includes you, we need to make a change of plans. My main goals are as follows: (1) to teach these young men how to play the game of baseball the right way, (2) to be a positive impact on them as young men, and (3) do all of this with class.

THE SEVEN CARDINAL RULES OF THE 80/20 SALES PRO These are the seven cardinal rules of the 80/20 sales professional: 1. No cold calling. Ever. You should attempt to sell only to warm leads. 2. Before you try to sell anything, you must know how much you’re willing to pay to get a new customer. 3. A prospect who “finds” you first is more likely to buy from you than if you find him. 4. You will dramatically enhance your credibility as a salesperson by authoring, speaking, and publishing quality information. 5. Generate leads with information about solving problems, not information about the product itself. 6. You can attain the best negotiating position with customers only when your marketing generates “deal flow” that exceeds your capacity. 7. The most valuable asset you can own is a well-maintained customer database, because people who’ve already bought from you are way easier to sell to than strangers.

Let me start by saying a true sensual woman is a tastemaker. What do I mean by that? I mean she sets the standard of what is pleasurable, desirable, sophisticated, refined, intoxicating, elegant, classy, sexy, healthy, delicious, saucy. Women naturally possess the power to create ANY taste. "There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted" (Sun Tzu). The sensually awakened ones are cognisant of this and use it to their advantage while those who are not awakened often see it as some form of "female oppression." They say, "You're putting women under pressure." But what about men, Lebo? Well, men are not tastemakers like women are. Why? Because, unlike women, MEN CAN'T AND ARE NOT ALLOWED TO PLAY WITH THEIR INNER CHARACTER TOO MUCH. For instance, a man is essentially restricted only to pants. A man can’t wear a dress, high heels, lipstick and the list goes on. This limits a man from becoming a significant contributor in the tastemaking process of life and love, except financially of course. But it doesn’t limit a woman in any way, shape or form. Women can wear dressess, even men's pants, etc.. They can put on ANYTHING actually and still be celebrated. Marilyn Monroe wore a potatoe sack. Lady Gaga wore an infamous dress made of raw beef. That's why I believe being a woman is the greatest privilege of all. Marilyn Monroe said, "One of the best things that ever happened to me is that I'm a woman." Marilyn understood that women are THE REAL TASTEMAKERS IN LIFE and relationships, not men. BEING A MAN DOESN'T REQUIRE AS MUCH AMBITION AS BEING A WOMAN. Women are relationship navigators because they are naturally more ambitious than men. That's why again, Marilyn said, "Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition." Our ultimate quest as men, whether we realize it or not, is to live under a woman's spell. That makes us happy, and seem stupid at times. Sadly, most women are not sensually awakened enough to realize that. They don't know that the ultimate secret to keeping a man content with one woman lies in her sensuality.

The way the Stoics put all of this into practice is by means of the four cardinal virtues: practical wisdom, the ability to navigate complex situations, especially morally salient ones, in the best way possible; courage, of the moral kind, as in the courage to stand up and do the right thing; justice, meaning treating others as worthy of the respect and dignity that comes with being fellow humans; and temperance, responding to situations in just measure, without excess or defect.

Bernard Law, the former cardinal of Boston, mistaking (or maybe understanding too well) the degree of authority bestowed on him by the signifier of his patronymic, denounced in 1996 proposed legislation giving health care benefits to same-sex partners of municipal employees. He did so by proclaiming, in a noteworthy instance of piety in the sky, that bestowing such access to health care would profoundly diminish the marital bond. "Society," he opined, "has a special interest in the protection, care and upbringing of children. Because marriage remains the principal, and the best, framework for the nurture, education and socialization of children, the state has a special interest in marriage." With this fatal embrace of a futurism so blindly committed to the figure of the Child that it will justify refusing health care benefits to the adults that some children become, Law lent his voice to the mortifying mantra of a communal jouissance that depends on the fetishization of the Child at the expense of whatever such fetishization must inescapably queer. Some seven years later, after Law had resigned for his failure to protect Catholic children from sexual assault by pedophile priests, Pope John Paul II returned to this theme, condemning state-recognized same-sex unions as parodic versions of authentic families, "based on individual egoism" rather than genuine love. Justifying that condemnation, he observed, "Such a 'caricature' has no future and cannot give future to any society." Queers must respond to the violent force of such constant provocations not only by insisting on our equal right to the social order's prerogatives, not only by avowing our capacity to promote that order's coherence and integrity, but also by saying explicitly what Law and the Pope and the whole of the Symbolic order for which they stand hear anyway in each and every expression or manifestation of queer sexuality: Fuck the social order and the Child in whose name we're collectively terrorized; fuck Annie; fuck the waif from Les Mis; fuck the poor, innocent kid on the Net; fuck Laws both with capital Ls and with small; fuck the whole network of Symbolic relations and the future that serves as its prop.

We all have sweet spots when triggered, we unleash our potential. Best motivation is when it comes from within. Find your sweet spots and get motivated to accomplish extraordinary things!!!

Our fulfillment in life and career meets with success when we give our best as per our unique talent, gifting, strengths while willing to team up with others in the areas of our limitations...

One thing I remember with amazement about Chicago is that everyone knew everything before it was splayed lurid and naked in public; you never saw a city so filled with knowing as Chicago then and probably now; but for all the sure knowledge that the mayor was a thief of epic proportion and the state senator on the take, the police commissioner a thug and the cardinal a man with a mistress, I do not remember that anyone was in the least resigned or cowed; it was more like you knew the score and worked around it, you assumed the worst but sought out and esteemed the best where you found it.

Legend has it that in an argument with a cardinal, Napoleon pointed out that he had the power to destroy the church. “Your majesty,” the cardinal replied, “we, the clergy, have done our best to destroy the church for the last eighteen hundred years. We have not succeeded, and neither will you.

Bishops and cardinals were among the very best clients of ‘usurers’. That is not surprising since nearly everyone holding an elite Church position had purchased his office as an investment, anticipating a substantial return from Church revenues.

The progressive’s cardinal syllogism is simply beautiful: the best always triumphs, because what triumphs is called the best.

The Cardinal thinks parents could draw a good lesson from his father and this anxious B. C. High experience. "Parents have the feeling that unless their children get high marks, their tuition money is being wasted. This isn't necessarily true. Some kids, temporarily or permanently, simply don't have the brain-power for high scholastic honors. If they're high-pressured Toward this impractical goal they sometimes get discouraged and quit. If they're told to do the best they can they usually keep plugging and get by.

Catholic men and a Catholic woman were having coffee in St. Peters Square , Rome . The first Catholic man tells his friends, "My son is a priest, when he walks into a room, everyone calls him Father”. The second Catholic man chirps, "My son is a Bishop. When he walks into a room people call him “Your Grace”." The third Catholic gent says, "My son is a Cardinal. When he enters a room everyone bows their head and says “Your Eminence”." The fourth Catholic man says very proudly, "My son is the Pope. When he walks into a room people call him “Your Holiness”." Since the lone Catholic woman was sipping her coffee in silence, the four men give her a subtle, "Well...?"  She proudly replies, "I have a daughter, Slim, Tall, 38D breast, 24" waist and 34" hips. When she walks into a room, people say, “My God!

perhaps the cardinal element, was the belief that the book was never closed, never ended. God was infinite; Man's understanding was not. And so, there would always be more for Man to learn, more for God to teach him, and as the doctrine of the Test taught, it was best to pay attention to one's lessons, whatever the form in which they might come.

but for all the sure knowledge that the mayor was a thief of epic proportion and the state senator on the take, the police commissioner a thug and the cardinal a man with a mistress, I do not remember that anyone was in the least resigned or cowed; it was more like you knew the score and worked around it, you assumed the worst but sought out and esteemed the best where you found it; and that was, as far as I could tell, on your street, in your neighborhood, among the shopkeepers and cops and nuns and bus drivers and carpenters and teachers who composed the small vibrant villages that collectively were the real Chicago.

Just as kingly rule is the best, so is the rule of the tyrant the worst.

People would think that clergy would plead guilty and would do all they could to minimise the stress and pain for the victim. But the Church will hire the best lawyers, barristers and even QCs to defend the abusers ... The victims are cross-examined as if they are on trial. The victims have to recount every detail of the abuse, and then are called liars.' (Sexual Abuse survivor Andrew Collins quoted on p.364)

I had spoken about the dogma of Faith being under attack even from within the Church, and I had made reference to some examples of Church teachings which were losing acceptance among many "Protestantized" Catholics. One of the seminarians of this group brought that point up again and told me that he, for one, did not believe in what I had said was the Church's teaching. It was enough for him to know that a certain Cardinal had said the opposite. "I follow the living magisterium," this seminarian told me! I could hardly believe my own eyes and ears. This was a seminarian who was preparing to become a priest to say only the traditional Latin Mass, and who had supposedly had a traditional seminary formation. As best I could tell from the discussion that followed, the superior of the group shared this seminarian's understanding of the Church's Magisterium - basically, that a "magisterial teaching" is whatever happens to be the latest word from Vatican officials, no matter how contradictory this might be to the prior constant and defined teachings of the Church!

After Piero died, the cardinal abruptly changed the Medici tactics toward Florence. He and his other brother, Giuliano, decided, as Francesco Guicciardini wrote, “that the best way to facilitate their return was not to use force and violence, but to show love and benevolence, benefitting the citizens and never offending them either in public or in private. They never overlooked an opportunity to do a favor to any Florentine citizen, whether he lived in Rome or was just passing through. . . . Soon it became quite clear that the entire house, possessions, resources, and reputation of the Cardinal were at the disposal of any Florentine who cared to use them. The effectiveness of all this was enhanced by the fact that the greedy and self-seeking Cardinal Soderini [also a Florentine] never did anything for any Florentine. By comparison with him, the liberality and generous deeds of the Medici

In Warsaw in 1977 he made an unscheduled and highly symbolic visit to the head of Poland’s Catholic Church, Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski, and advised Edward Gierek, the first secretary of the Polish Communist Party, to speak more often with the cardinal. “It’s never too late” to become a believer, he told Gierek, skillfully exploiting the tension between Gierek’s ancestral Catholicism and the atheism of Communist doctrine.

Today, as yesterday and tomorrow, the church speaks a language of respect for public officeholders, whose vocation is shaped by the constraints of law; but the church, today as yesterday and tomorrow, also speaks as best she can to judge the actions and decisions of public officials, and the culture shaped by them, when these are inadequate to the vision given us by the truths of faith.

Jesus, in telling people their sins are forgiven, brought them face to face with their sinfulness. Confronting our sinfulness leaves us uneasy at best and hopeless at worst, unless we believe God can and does forgive us. The Church exists because Christ died to save us from our sins.

Full and actual participation in the Eucharist is the best way of living God’s life, which is also given and shared in the other sacraments. The ordinary actions of daily life are also occasions for grace and not just occasions of sin, as they were thought to be almost exclusively by some spiritual authors.

the evidence is there. Thought control is, to a free people, a cardinal sin. It is dangerous because focused propaganda can be effective. This is why the best teachers insist on a broad range of learning, most especially including skepticism. We must teach our students to use caution when they are exposed to ideologies that have followers whose enthusiasm clouds their judgment.

Serving in the best country in the world demands becoming the best in what you do. To become the best, learn from & hangout with the best...

I try my best to surround myself with people who're smarter than I'm; individuals who add values; who stretch me; optimistic & full of light

The best way to pray is to pray.

I hate public controversy. This deep dislike stems from a personal conviction that no one really wins public disputes and that people often get beat up in the process. It stems also from a pastoral conviction that a bishop is, whenever possible, supposed to unite rather than divide. It’s best to avoid most arguments or carry them on only privately and between friends.

The best preparation for faithful marriage is a chaste life.

Martyrs are believers who are able to bring their faith into every area of experience: business, politics, the arts, health care, farming and manufacturing, sales and communications. Martyrs are prepared, in the presence of skepticism and power, to account for the hope that is in them (I Peter 3:15). They know their faith and can explain it as they live it. They are aware of the action of God in their lives and in the world and they do their best, with God’s grace, to respond faithfully, each according to his or her own vocation from God.

Someone has said that 'the saints consecrate the world,' and this is true. But they do more than this, as Raoul Plus points out: It is the saints who preserve the world. They are the true, the only conservatives in the sense that the world owes its preservation to them. They are also the true, the only liberals in the best sense of that abused word, the magnanimous, great-souled people whose minds are big enough to include heaven and whose hearts are large enough to hold all the world -- plus God.

The girl stuck a feather into his knit cap and drew some dark lines on his face. Until that moment, Jason had not been sure if he would accompany the men down to the harbor. He ran his fingers over the feather. “Miss,” he asked, “I hate to whine, but do you have a longer turkey feather?” the girl pulled out his feather, grabbed a longer more colorful one from the table, and replaced it. “Oh, thank you, miss. If I am to commit treason, I believe it had best be done with aplomb.” He spoke low so that only she could hear. “You agree, of course?

I speared a sausage with my knife, bit off the end. Juice and fat exploded: the pork melted. I tasted chestnuts, moss, the bulbs of wild lilies, the roots and shoots of an Umbrian forest floor. There was pepper, of course, salt and garlic. Nothing else. I opened my eyes. The Proctor was staring at me, and quickly looked away. I thought I saw a smile cross his lips before he opened them to admit another wagon-load of lentils. I tried a spoonful myself. They were very small and brown- earthy-tasting, of course. That I had been expecting. But these were subtle: there was a hint of pine, which came partly from the rosemary that was obviously in the dish, but partly from the lentils themselves. I did feel as if I were eating soil, but a special kind: some sort of silky brown clay, perhaps; something that Maestro Donatello would have crossed oceans to sculpt with, or that my uncle Filippo would have used as a pigment to paint the eyes of a beautiful brown-eyed donna. Maybe this is what the earth under the finest hazelnut tree in Italy would taste like- but that, perhaps, was a question best put to a pig. "Make sure you chew properly," I mumbled, piling my plate high. The serving girl came back with a trencher of sliced pork meats: salami dotted with pink fat, ribbons of lardo, peppery bacon. The flavors were slippery, lush, like copper leaf or the robe of a cardinal. I coiled a strip of dark, translucent ham onto my tongue: it dissolved into a shockingly carnal mist, a swirl of truffles, cinnamon and bottarga.

The Cardinal Secretary of State was a Vietnamese priest named Pierre Nguyen Van Nho, a former Vincentian missionary into the People’s Republic of China. He had been considered something of a bomb thrower with the press. After living in China under threat of harsh reprisals if caught evangelizing, his idiocy-tolerance threshold had dropped down to that of most career army personnel. He also had a degree in communications before going into the Church, so the two allowed him to tell reporters to go to Hell with all of the best in psycholinguistics he could throw.