Danger (n.) is at its greatest when when we have just gotten out of the way of a carriage.
Danger (n.) is solely capable of acquainting us with our own resources, our virtues, our armor and weapons, our spirit, and forces us to be strong.
Danger (n.) is greatest just after you have avoided a carriage — that is when you get run over.
Danger (n.) is greatest not when toiling uphill but when one starts to take things easy — that is when legs break.
Danger (n.) teaches what study cannot: Tiberius knew Augustus better than the wisest historian; as long as truths do not cut into our flesh with knives, we keep a secret contempt for them as winged dreams.
Danger (n.) is a school of grace: living under a hundred swords of Damocles, one learns to dance.
Danger (n.) is what a temperament instinctively chooses: adventures in speculation if one is a philosopher, in immorality if one is virtuous — life raised to a higher power.
Danger (n.) is courted not out of love for mankind but because every great danger challenges our curiosity about the measure of our force.