He would have feared those sublimities whence some very great men even, like Swedenborg and Pascal, have slipped into insanity.

Certainly, these powerful reveries have their moral utility, and by these arduous paths one approaches to ideal perfection.

As for him, he took the path which shortens,--the Gospel's.
He did not attempt to impart to his chasuble the folds of Elijah's mantle; he projected no ray of future upon the dark groundswell of events; he did not seek to condense in flame the light of things; he had nothing of the prophet and nothing of the magician about him.

This humble soul loved, and that was all.
That he carried prayer to the pitch of a superhuman aspiration is probable: but one can no more pray too much than one can love too much; and if it is a heresy to pray beyond the texts, Saint Theresa and Saint Jerome would be heretics.
He inclined towards all that groans and all that expiates.

The universe appeared to him like an immense malady; everywhere he felt fever, everywhere he heard the sound of suffering, and, without seeking to solve the enigma, he strove to dress the wound.