Swordsmen thrust through, and dying in their blood on the arena sand; bulls goring horses disembowelled, made a meeker vision for the public a milder condiment for a people's palate than Vashti torn by seven devils: devils which cried sore and rent the tenement they haunted, but still refused to be exorcised.

Charlotte Bront
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The Power Of Failure: We Get To Decide What It Means