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“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat . . . There is little use for the being whose tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder. Well for these men if they succeed; well also, though not so well, if they fail, given only that they have nobly ventured, and have put forth all their heart and strength. It is war-worn Hotspur, spent with hard fighting, he of the many errors and valiant end, over whose memory we love to linger, not over the memory of the young lord who ‘but for the vile guns would have been a valiant soldier’.”

U.S President Theodore Roosevelt
Citizenship in a Republic
speech delivered on April 23, 1910, at the Sorbonne in Paris

“I can't always be in the wild. Sometimes I have to be in places that smell of fear, fumes, and ambition. When I'm there it helps very much to know that badgers are asleep inside a Welsh hill, that an otter is turning over stones in one of the Rockford pools, that a fox is blinking in the same sun that makes me sweat in my tweed coat, that a red stag is cutting amongst ghost trees by a stone circle near Hoar Oak, and that there's a swift hatched above my Oxford study hunting almost beyond human sight in the high, hot blue over the Congo River. That these things should be a comfort is strange. They should taunt, not comfort. They should say, ‘you're not there—ha, ha, ha’. Why does that not happen? Well, I note that I get a similar sense of comfort only from being assured of the continued existence of things, and notably people, that, whatever love is, I love. Perhaps then, whatever love means, I love these creatures.”

Charles Foster
Being a Beast

“But Hawaiʻi's social ills, poverty that is demonstrably an after affect — still — of the Māhele more than a century and a half ago, youth crime and disaffection that come of having one's cultural heritage ripped apart and never mended, the restoration of native identity and the just desire for the return of some amount of autonomy which for decades was never accorded a status equal to that even of American Indians, the natural environment that was nearly obliterated in the worship of sugar, and more, need to be not just addressed but comprehensively, meaningfully, and probably expensively, addressed. But they are not addressed by nostalgia for the chiefly days. People who espouse reincarnation always fancy themselves to have been Henry VIII or Marie Antoinette. No one channels his past to some humble, downtrodden, medieval plowman. In old Hawaiʻi, 999 people in 1,000 were kanakas, digging taro, netting fish, trying to hide their one pig from the chief steward, being throttled on an altar if their shadow crossed an aliʻi. Modern cultural sensitivity obscures an important fact: Hawaiʻi never was a paradise.”

James L. Haley
Captive Paradise: A History of Hawaii