I will not be brave every day—nor even very many days. But of those rare ones I will make hay.
Some men and times are born pregnant with courage, it is irrefutable in them and they, each, have no cause to conscience its abortion — it has been coming and they, each a bearer and comer of an age, are its subject.
That I am neither is the mode of history, ordinary time, unsacred; to be unpossessed is too a gift, for mind in man rises in peacetime only; to verify beauty, to walk in joy and in rain, to sing love to the God still unstirred, to enjoy the cool of day. Only on rare occasion is fire known to its bellower. The possessed know not when nor why nor by whom.