Well, it’s Tuesday in most of the world. Time for a teaser, then. Or three.
“Get him out, sir? There’s two regiments there!”
“So? That’s only eight hundred men. There are fifty-three of us.”
p. 64, Sharpe’s Gold. Bernard Cornwell.
Hogan, he thought, was right. If a miracle were needed to save the campaign, and it was, then the rogue he had just seen was the best man for the job. More than a rogue: a fighter, and a man who looked on failure as unthinkable. But a rogue, thought Wellington, a damned rogue all the same.
p. 31, Sharpe’s Gold. Bernard Cornwell.
Suppose I should say to a wrestler, ‘Show me your muscle’. And he should answer me, ‘See my dumb-bells’. Your dumb-bells are your own affair; I want to see the effect of them.
“Take the treatise ‘On Choice’, and see how thoroughly I have perused it.
I am not asking about this, O slave, but how you act in choosing and refusing, how you manage your desires and aversions, your intentions and purposes, how you meet events — whether you are in harmony with nature’s laws or opposed to them. If in harmony, give me evidence of that, and I will say you are progressing; if the contrary, you may go your way, and not only comment on your books, but write some like them yourself; and what good will it do you?
p. 13-14. The Discourses, book four (“On Progress”). Epictetus.