“Honey, remember what you were telling me. That I am a chalice, which houses the pearl of life... Now you ask me to break this chalice, to throw it away, to tear the pearl of life mercilessly, to throw it in the trash. I am his mother who carries him. By what right, my love? How do we do that;".

"God doesn't make mistakes. Nor does it fit into our own little and worn-out logic. He's a bigot. We measure what is good for us on this earth, He measures Heaven; what is good for us to go to the eternal land, to Heaven. I feel you, my love. You are afraid like me, you ask "why", like me. We are both in the same cross Gethsemane. We both chant, each in his own way, "I am taking this glass away from me". But it's time for us both to try to say "except as I want, but as you. Let Your will be done, Lord!". And He, who measures our endurance, will measure our cross; He will make it as much as our shoulders can bear."

"No existence is useless! It's not worthless what God does!” she cried and now her own voice began to harden. "This child whom you dismiss as a useless existence, has within his afflicted body an immortal soul, unique, distinct, equal to mine or rather superior, holier, because it is spotless, crystalline, sanctified in its pain, pure" , she said, her voice cracking with tenderness. "This child knows no evil. It is a lily, a flower of God..."