O Pride, the bane of great fortune and its highest folly! How glad we are to receive nothing from thee! How thou dost turn every sort of benefit into an injury! How will all thy acts become thee! The higher thou hast lifted thyself, the lower thou dost sink, and provest that thou hast no right to lay claim to those blessings that cause thee to be so greatly puffed up; thou dost spoil all that thou givest. And so I like to ask her why she is so fond of swelling out her chest, of marring her expression and the appearance of her face to the extent of actually preferring to wear a mask instead of human visage. The gifts that please are those that are bestowed by one who wears the countenance of a human being, all gentle and kindly, by one who, though he was my superior when he gave them, did not exalt himself above me, but, with all the generosity in his power, descended to my own level, and banished all display from his giving, who thus watched for the suitable moment for the purpose of coming to my rescue with timely, rather than with necessary, aid. The only way in which we shall ever convince these arrogant creatures that they are ruining their benefits by their insolence is to show them that benefits do not appear more important simply because they were given with much noise; and, too, that they themselves do not appear more important in anyone’s eyes because of that; that the importance of pride is an illusion, and tends to cause hatred for actions that ought to be loved.