Peace and trust, hope. Do not turn inward, the misery of our soul is like mud with which we must often humble ourselves, but to which we should not always direct our gaze. We must also and above all set our sights on the Beloved, on beauty, on the infinite and uncreated Love that deigns to love us... When we love, we forget about ourselves and think about what we love. To love means to constantly think that we are unworthy of love...
(Charles de Foucauld /1858–1916/, letter to a friend)