imagination was of no use whatever. I could not do as others do,
who can put matters before themselves so as to become thereby
recollected. I was able to think of Christ only as man. But so
it was; and I never could form any image of Him to myself, though
I read much of His beauty, and looked at pictures of Him. I was
like one who is blind, or in the dark, who, though speaking to a
person present, and feeling his presence, because he knows for
certain that he is present--I mean, that he understands him to be
present, and believes it--yet does not see him. It was thus with
me when I used to think of our Lord. This is why I was so fond
of images. Wretched are they who, through their own fault, have
lost this blessing; it is clear enough that they do not love our
Lord--for if they loved Him, they would rejoice at the sight of
His picture, just as men find pleasure when they see the portrait
of one they love.

8. At this time, the Confessions of St. Augustine were given me.
Our Lord seems to have so ordained it, for I did not seek them
myself, neither had I ever seen them before. I had a very great
devotion to St. Augustine, because the monastery in which I lived
when I was yet in the world was of his Order; [5] and also
because he had been a sinner--for I used to find great comfort in
those Saints whom, after they had sinned, our Lord converted to
Himself. I thought they would help me, and that, as our Lord had
forgiven them, so also He would forgive me. One thing, however,
there was that troubled me--I have spoken of it before [6]--our
Lord had called them but once, and they never relapsed; while my
relapses were now so many. This it was that vexed me.
But calling to mind the love that He bore me, I took courage
again. Of His mercy I never doubted once, but I did very often