R. Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch (Rashab)

“The flame is not yours,” said the Rebbe, “you are just its carrier. The lamp is ready to be lit—you need only touch it with the flame.” “Should I grab him by the throat?” asked the chassid. “By the throat, no,” replied the rebbe. “By the lapels, yes.”

Father is standing with his face to the wall, praying. But I do not understand: Why is he entreating more than all other worshippers? Why does he need G‑d’s mercy more than other people?

The answer was fast in coming. Less than an hour later the Rebbes secretary stood facing her with good news. "The Rebbe says that you should travel to Warsaw." She was overjoyed! But her smile faded as she realized that there was no more to the message. ...

When I was 11 years old, my father gave me the manuscript as a gift. "This is a chassidic kiss," he said, "in time I will explain"

At a wayside inn, a dozen chassidic merchants were warming themselves at the fire. The conversation soon turned to the greatness of their rebbes, as each extoled the virtues of his miracle-working master...

"Fools!" cried the coachman. "Do you think that I gave you to drink so that the hay you devour should be more tasty...?"

"Lubavitcher Rebbe," he asked, "why do you cry? After all, we did all that we could..."

“When I was a young man of twenty,” the Baal Shem Tov began his story, “shortly after being accepted in the society of hidden tzaddikim, several of us came to the city of Brody . . .”