They want us dead. So we have to stay alive.
The pain of failure – the pain of failure that is so much greater than the pleasure of success.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
Each dark conjecture came and for a moment settled like a vulture on Bond’s shoulder and croaked into his ear that he had been a blind fool.
Champagne and Benzedrine! Never again.
Before he slept he reflected, as he had often reflected in other moments of triumph at the card table, that the gain to the winner is, in some odd way, always less than the loss to the loser.
And people with obsessions, reflected Bond, were blind to danger.