It takes a lot inside to match all the outside can throw at you.

From Alfred’s journal

The wind came up the river all afternoon and the cottonwood I sit in was no help to anybody. Switch went out on a thin branch anyway, got turned halfway around, and held on with his back feet while the rest of him swung. When he came back in he was not frightened, only tired, and he sat against the trunk breathing hard for a long while. I used to think courage was a kind of lightness, a willingness to let go. Watching him I thought instead that it takes a lot inside to match all the outside can throw at you, and that he had spent most of what he had and would need to eat before he spent any more. The wind did not care either way; it kept on at the same speed until dark.