From De Profundis.
About six weeks ago, the physician allowed me to have wheat bread at dinner instead of the coarse, black or brown bread, the usual prison-fare. Here in prison it is considered a delicacy by everybody. It means so much to me that after each meal I carefully gather the crumbs which remain on my tin plate or on the coarse cloth which I use to cover my table. I do this not from hunger — for now I get plenty to eat — but simply so that I may not waste anything that is given me. One should do the same with love. Like all fascinating personalities, Christ possessed the gift not only of saying beautiful things Himself, but also of making others speak in the language of beauty. I love the story which St. Mark tells us of the Greek woman who, when Christ — in order to test her faith — told her He could not give her the bread of the children of Israel, answered: “The small dogs — Χυνάρια — under the table eat of the children’s crumbs.”