“Oh, Fortuna, blind, heedless goddess, I am strapped to your wheel,' Ignatius belched, 'Do not crush me beneath your spokes. Raise me on high, divinity.”

“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.”

“Though God hath raised me high, yet this I count the glory of my Crown, that I have reigned with your loves.”

“Because your eyes are slant and slow,
Because your hair is sweet to touch,
My heart is high again; but oh,
I doubt if this will get me much.”

“Show me your hands. Do they have scars from giving? Show me your feet. Are they wounded in service? Show me your heart. Have you left a place for divine love?”

“True believer that I am
I am blind, lead me on (lead me on)
Blessed receiver of your love
I own my own time
And I've been holding on (holding on)
Leave the word unspoken
And the spell will not be broken.”

“How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things?”

“I am crushed by your poor opinion
But will endeavor to carry on.”

“And the snake who'd held the world, a stick, a carrot and string
Was crushed beneath the foot of Your not wanting anything.”

“Standing beneath this serene sky, overlooking these broad fields now reposing from the labors of the waning year, the mighty Alleghenies dimly towering before us, the graves of our brethren beneath our feet, it is with hesitation that I raise my poor voice to break the eloquent silence of God and Nature. But the duty to which you have called me must be performed; — grant me, I pray you, your indulgence and your sympathy.”