. . . for me to translate my thoughts, I have to be like the solitary sparrow, and this is rarely my lot. When I begin to take up my pen, behold a Sister passes by, a pitchfork on her shoulder. She believes she will distract me with a little idle chatter, then another hay worker throws flowers on my lap, perhaps believing this will inspire me with poetic thoughts. I . . . would prefer to see the flowers remain swaying on their stems. Finally, fatigued by opening and shutting this famous copybook, I .. . copy out some thoughts from the psalms. . .

St. Therese of Lisieux