One Should Never Be Ashamed

I Have Been Very Fortunate In Worldly Matters; Many Men Have Worked Much Harder, And Not Succeeded Half So Well; But I Never Could Have Done What I Have Done, Without The Habits Of Punctuality, Order, And Diligence, Without The Determination To Concentrate Myself On One Object At A Time, No Matter How Quickly Its Successor Should Come Upon Its Heels, Which I Then Formed.

My Imagination Would Never Have Served Me As It Has, But For The Habit Of Commonplace, Humble, Patient, Daily, Toiling, Drudging Attention

It May Be Only Small Injustice That The Child Can Be Exposed To; But The Child Is Small, And Its World Is Small, And Its Rocking-horse Stands As Many Hands High, According To Scale, As A Big-boned Irish Hunter.

But Tears Were Not The Things To Find Their Way To Mr. Bumble’s Soul; His Heart Was Waterproof. Like Washable Beaver Hats That Improve With Rain, His Nerves Were Rendered Stouter And More Vigorous, By Showers Of Tears, Which, Being Tokens Of Weakness, And So Far Tacit Admissions Of His Own Power, Pleased And Exalted Him.

And, Unlike The Celebrated Herd In The Poem, They Were Not Forty Children Conducting Themselves As One, But Every Child Was Conducting Itself Like Forty.