i can't remember now.

Is there a drought with which the mind might be sponged clean? What tether is there which can bind the wrestlings of thought? When mortal souls do under dragons heave, what sanctuary can sinful hearts conceive? For when the storms thus ravage our caprice there is not one that can escape the vice. We are but black in blackness when within such creatures creep that cannot by moral nor mortal law be tamed. When we find that our wills have outstripped their power's place we hide our faces for what are we to do? Is there no hope for a restless heart chaffed by battles lost but also battles won? Oh, laborious soul be still a while! By and by the seas shall settle from swell! Or if they will not, mihi non sit suave vivere.

by the loveliest of all: Ashley Moore