My dear, for the last ten years Arletta has been coming to see me every Thursday, and when he can't come, he stops in to tell me. We're old friends. I think he likes to talk with me. Do you know, when he found me, I couldn't even walk? Some of my toenaíls were at least three inches long. He came back with fríends. They heated water, cut my toenalls, and rubbed my feet. Look, over there is the basin, all polished and shiny. Do you know hím very well? I wonder what he sees in me. I had begun to believe that no one would ever love me again.
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise from outward things, what e’er you may believe. There is an inmost center in us all, Where truth abides in fullness . . . and to know, Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape, Than in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.
TRUTH: knowing we are integral to the Whole.
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate'er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all
Where truth abides in fullness; and around
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception — which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
Blinds it, and makes all error, and, to KNOW
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, what'ere you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fulness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception -- which is truth ...
and to KNOW,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
~ from "Paracelsus" by Robert Browning with thanks to John Bryan
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, what'ere you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fulness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception -- which is truth ...
and to KNOW,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
~ from "Paracelsus" by Robert Browning with thanks to John Bryan
