In night when colors all to black are cast,
Distinction lost, or gone down with the light;
The eye a watch to inward senses placed,
Not seeing, yet still having powers of sight,
Gives vain alarums to the inward sense,
Where fear stirred up with witty tyranny,
Confounds all powers, and thorough self-offense,
Doth forge and raise impossibility:
Such as in thick depriving darknesses,
Proper reflections of the error be,
And images of self-confusednesses,
Which hurt imaginations only see;
And from this nothing seen, tells news of devils,
Which but expressions be of inward evils.
By Lord Brooke Fulke Greville (1633)
Truth in our hearts. Strength in our hands. Consistency in our tongues.
Beauty is not just all around us, but within us....
"Mo nighean donn," he whispered, "Mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart. Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me, a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you."(Fiery Cross Quote)