Honor is the inner garment of the Soul; the first thing put on by it with the flesh, and the last it layeth down at its separation from it.
AkhenatonAs a rock on the seashore he standeth firm, and the dashing of the waves disturbeth him not. He raiseth his head like a tower on a hill, and the arrows of fortune drop at his feet. In the instant of danger, the courage of his heart here, and scorn to fly.
AkhenatonAs the moon retaineth her nature, though darkness spread itself before her face as a curtain, so the Soul remaineth perfect even in the bosom of the fool.
Akhenaton