Love That I Bear Within My Breast

Luminous, Unfearful; High-priestesses, Our Fervour Shall Banish All Evil.

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.

The Race May Or May Not Be To The Swift, But Tell Me, Is It Likely That The Fight Will Be Entrusted To The Dead?

Love Is A Garment Riven In The Light That Rises From Parnassus, Showing The Night Is Over.

Escape From The Power Of The Hunting Pack, And To Know That Wisdom Is Best And Beauty Sheer Holiness.