Pride ruined the angels.

The hero is not fed on sweets, Daily his own heart he eats; Chambers of the great are jails, And head-winds right for royal sails. Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.

A nation never falls but by suicide

Earth proudly wears the Parthenon as the best gem upon her zone

It is the privilege of any human work which is well done to invest the doer with a certain haughtiness.

The tyrant is a child of Pride
Who drinks from his sickening cup
Recklessness and vanity,
Until from his high crest headlong
He plummets to the dust of hope.