Quotes About Pride

A man may build himself a throne of bayonets, but he cannot sit on it.

A man may build himself a throne of bayonets, but he can't sit on it.

One lesson of the Luddite rebellion specifically, and the Industrial Revolution generally, is that maintaining the prosperity of those closed communities—their pride in workmanship as well as their economic well-being—can only be paid for by those outside the communities: by society at large.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud For grief is proud an't makes his owner stoop

He that is proud eats up himself; pride in his glass, his trumpet, his chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise

But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised, And mine that I was proud on--mine so much That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her--why she, O, she is fall'n Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, And salt too little which may season give To her foul tainted flesh!

We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

My pride fell with my fortunes.

Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others.

Small things make base men proud.

Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.

'Tis a common proof,That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;But when he once attains the upmost round,He then unto the ladder turns his back,Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degreesBy which he did ascend.

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

The trumpet of his own virtues.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.

Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,And make death proud to take us.

Now boast thee, death, in thy possession liesA lass unparallel'd.

That England, that was wont to conquer others,Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

But man, proud man,Drest in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,His glassy essence, like an angry ape,Plays such fantastic tricks before high heavenAs make the angels weep.

He was not born to shame:Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit.

O proud death!What feast is toward in thine eternal cell?

Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

A very riband in the cap of youth.