They yearn for what they fear for.

A rapid bolt will rend the clouds apart, and every single White be seared by wounds. I tell you this. I want it all to hurt.

From a little spark may burst a flame.

A backward glance can often lift the heart.

For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense.

Conscience, that boon companion who sets a man free under the strong breastplate of innocence, that bids him on and fear not.

Do ye not comprehend that we are worms born to bring forth the angelic butterfly that flieth unto judgment without screen?