What have I to fear, in this secret place? The lions outside my door are phantoms; the hanging that awaits me at sunset is just a tale.
This time apart, in which I prepare, let me see it is no different than the outside world. That outside world, which I fear, let me see it as just an extension of this closet.
There are no lions; there are no gallows. There are only your gifts, dear Lord.
Thy will be done.
(Letter #1,916)
