June 8, 1930	Better a heavy stone on your shoulders than a mixture of pride, vanity and conceit weighing on your brain. You may get rid of the stone and walk erect again. Pride rarely leaves its carrier.    Even the peacock’s pride, made of light feathers, is a weight rendering the bird useless for everything but foolish show.    Dante puts the sin of pride in the worst part of Purgatory. Where pride begins, progress ends. To say, ‘I am satisfied with myself,’ means no more going upward.
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