Often, at the culminating point of a violent headache, I make myself say [George Herbert’s Love] over, concentrating all my attention upon it and clinging with all my soul to the tenderness it enshrines. I used to think I was merely reciting it as a beautiful poem, but without my knowing it the recitation had the virtue of a prayer. It was during one of these recitations that, as I told you, Christ himself came down and took possession of me.
–Simone Weil, Waiting for God
