The burning. The passionate love of Infinity, at once warming and burning, comforting and causing a terrible trembling…
And coals are kindled by it.
Every bit of warmth we possess, every bit of light, we owe to that wonderful, terrible fire.
Every ounce of usefulness, every drop of passion, any love for souls, any hatred for chains, any power to do anything about them… We owe it all to the burning.
And to be a coal– To glow red, rolled in ashes, this is a high honor.
The harder the wind blows, the hotter we glow.
Till we’re utterly consumed.
Can any other life compare?