Falling on your sword To commit suicide to end the problem.
If I am the problem, then I need removed from the game, the solution is to remove the problem.
There are other times where I am not the problem, everyone else is the problem, and I must hurt myself, take great pain and walk away.
Falling on your sword - Iraq
--------------------------------- Bangkok Thailand - Southeast Asia Khao San Road Wednesday, December 26, 2007 Andy of HoboTraveler.com --- ----------------------------------
There are few noble acts performed by man, the dominant one that continually overwhelms me with respect is the self-sacrifice of women for children or family. Other than that, it is hard to find clear examples of a person taking responsibility for their actions.
To quit a job that pays well, because you do not want to be associate with a fraud, a joke, to be part and party to an embarrassing company. This to me is falling on your sword, saying, I will hurt myself, to say, I will not be like you. To admit, I do not know how to do something, it is better to allow a younger, smarter, quicker person to do this job. To quit to allow the better equipped to grow and expand, to step aside can in my mind be falling on the sword.
There are times the only way to make a vote, to say, to announce what we stand for in life, it to say, I quit. I will not be you, I will be me, I will suffer the slings and arrows. It is amazing how easily peoples opinions are purchased.
William Shakespeare - To be, or not to be (from Hamlet 3/1)
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. - Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd