Pride Is Like The Beautiful Acacia, That

Affliction, Like The Iron-smith, Shapes As It Smites.

Pride Is Like The Beautiful Acacia, That Lifts Its Head Proudly Above Its Neighbor Plants-forgetting That It Too, Like Them, Has Its Roots In The Dirt.

A Failure Establishes Only This, That Our Determination To Succeed Was Not Strong Enough.

At The Best, Sarcasms, Bitter Irony, Scathing Wit, Are A Sort Of Swordplay Of The Mind. You Pink Your Adversary, And He Is Forthwith Dead; And Then You Deserve To Be Hung For It.

Besides The Five Senses, There Is A Sixth Sense, Of Equal Importance--the Sense Of Duty.