“And the spirit cried, and rent him sore, and came out of him: and he was as one dead; insomuch that many said, He is dead.”
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Evil never surrenders its grasp without a tremendous fight. We never arrive at any spiritual inheritance through the enjoyment of a picnic but always through the fierce conflicts of the battlefield.
And it is the same in the deep recesses of the soul. Every human capacity that wins its spiritual freedom does so at the cost of blood.
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