And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
Illness has always brought me nearer to a state of grace.
The more I work with the body, keeping my assumptions in a temporary state of reservation, the more I appreciate and sympathize with a given disease. The body no longer appears as a sick or irrational demon, but as a process with its own inner logic and wisdom.
Seeing my malevolent face in the mirror, my benevolent soul shrinks back.
A puny body weakens the soul.
Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men.
It is often when night looks darkest, it is often before the fever breaks that one senses the gathering momentum for change, when one feels that resurrection of hope in the midst of despair and apathy.
Every evil is a sickness of soul, but virtue offers the cause of its health.
O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
When one tears away the veils and shows them naked, people's souls give off such a pungent smell of decay.
We are not victims of aging, sickness and death. These are part of scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change. This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being.