Confessions: St Augustine

The house of my soul is small: too small for you to enter. Enlarge it. It is a ruin. But I ask you to repair it.

What are you to me? Help me answer that question.

Is it then that your whole being is in everything, yet nothing can contain you wholly?

Yet all those things which you fill, you fill with your whole self.

You are not scattered. Rather we are gathered.

When your life is ‘poured out’ on us, you are not spilt, but we are raised up to you.

I would be nothing at all, my God, unless you were in me, or rather, I would not exist unless I were in you. For all that exists comes from you, comes through you, and is in you. So it is, Lord. So it is.

But what place is there in me where my God can enter?

And again they shall praise the Lord that seek him,4 for they that seek shall find.