“This very pride in keeping his word was that he was keeping it to miscreants. It was his last triumph over these lunatics to go down into their dark room and die for something that they could not even understand. The barrel-organ seemed to give the marching tune with the energy and the mingled noises of a whole orchestra; and he could hear deep and rolling, under all the trumpets of the pride of life, the drums of the pride of death.”
“For the pride of trace and trail was his, and sick unto death, he could not bear that another dog should do his work.”
“That is very true," replied Elizabeth, "and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
“He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.”
“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
“The boy should enclose and keep, as his life, the old child at the heart of him, and never let it go. He must still, to be a right man, be his mother's darling, and more, his father's pride, and more. The child is not meant to die, but to be forever fresh born.”