I hated it when there is a war inside me. I hate it most when Conscience, with her usual poised calm, turns her harsh gaze at Passion in a disapproving fashion, speaking clearly with her eyes that if she befreind the vile man called Lust she would thrust her down to unsounded depths of agony.
Reason, with her usual composed self, sided with Conscience, and told Passion, in a warm and less harsh tone, that Lust with his cousin, Desire, are to be looked upon only from a safe distance, for they are subtle and quick to degrade others.
It is a good thing that concience is so pure and reason so right. Without them I would not be where I am right now and my passion would have run wild away with lust and desire.
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