When I think that, for a sorrow borne with joy, I shall be able to love You more for all eternity, I understand clearly that if You gave me the entire universe, with all its treasures, it would be nothing in comparison to the slightest suffering. Each new suffering, each pang of the heart, is a gentle wind to bear to You the perfume of the soul that loves You. Then You smile lovingly. You immediately make ready a new grief and fill the cup to the brim, thinking the more the soul grows in love, the more in must grow in suffering, too.
Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face