They also that dwell in the uttermost parts are afraid at thy tokens: thou makest the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejoice.

It doesn't mean you're a worrywart, a nervous wreck or in need of heavy medication.

“Stop!” The hoarse, oddly alien voice of the Swami held a tone beyond all mere earthly fright “I told you there was another form of proof which I could give if necessary, and I warned you not to provoke me to it. This red-faced old meddler is right; I’m not really an East Indian. This face is a mask, and what it covers is not human.”

… his whole work in short was a vitalised reproach to much of the paragraph literature and art abroad, and he had, must have had, a greatness of soul worthy the grove which harboured the much enduring Carlyle and the faintless George Eliot.