Honor (n.) can mend no leg, says Falstaff — but lost, it can amputate leg and arm and send a man to Siberia: never on any battlefield was a man so maltreated as he whom honor made away with.
Honor (n.) has its field wherever a man falls with honor — including the man who preferred to lose his honor and give it all to God rather than slink through life with it; Mary Magdalene lies more illustrious without the myrtle garland than with it.
Honor (n.) is, for the thinker, consistency and the idea, as a maiden's honor is hers; he can think he has a murder on his conscience, but not that he failed to express the idea.
Honor (n.) and shame mean nothing without a setting that gives them significance — a prize awarded on a stairway by a wretched teacher before a dubious crowd; only eternity's hall is lofty enough.
Honor (n.) and shame in eternity depend not on the outcome but on the expectation itself: the unloving man whose petty, envious hope came true is put to shame, and the father who hoped for his lost son to the end stands in honor.
Honor (n.) works both ways: some men are honored by their decorations, and some men honor the decorations they wear.
Honor (n.) is the category of an anxiety directed not at guilt but at the appearance of guilt.