The very brave fear greatly, then they charge!

They run at the very thing that scares them near death.

Unemployed? They screw their courage to a job board. Winless? They ride in the Tour de France clean. Broke? They tighten their money belt and pay their bills.

While cowards cheat; the brave go out and compete — alone if they must, in an open sea, in a storm, lost! When the waves breach the deck and no one comes to help. they lash down the watery hatches, set the slashing sails to full and take the spinning wheel.

They fail, miserably and try again.

And in their inner sanctuaries, those sad and fearful cloistered rooms inside, the brave brook no tart heart. They do not blame someone else, nor go begging for sympathy, nor rot with resentment, regret and rancorous refrain when all seems lost.

We all suffer; the courageous simply weep in a corner more quietly. Cowards and valiants both die many times before their deaths; the valiants simply break out of their graves and flush their sorry corpses out into the open again faster.

And in the end, bravery dies well, giving the final gift with gritted teeth and class. Lamed, the courageous run hard down the stretch toward the final pole vault.


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