Than vows could hope for, strikes on Scaeva's brow
To light within his eye: the hero tugs
Intrepid, bursts the nerves, and tears the shaft
Forth with the eyeball, and with dauntless heel
Treads them to dust. Not otherwise a bear
Pannonian, fiercer for the wound received,
Maddened by dart from Libyan thong propelled,
Turns circling on her wound, and still pursues
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damp freshness in the air of the passage, and a sort of
only for the Self. What is the Self being, doing, or having?
love until you understand that My highest choice for Me
have been making love on the pitcher’s mound in Yankee
Morison had been urging his suit once more that evening,
her own will. Remember, the child was in the street because
a single word—unless I feel moved to, unless I feel...
relationships, finding one’s right work, dealing with
or that other infinitely more beautiful flower who wandered
Those who have known me from my Past—including former
freedom from doubt and questioning. Baynes had urged her
In truth, there is no tyranny—except in your imagi-nation.