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It is not luck but labour that makes men. Luck, says an American writer, is ever waiting for something to turn up; labour with keen eyes and strong will always turns up something. Luck lies in bed and wishes the postman would bring him news of a legacy; labour turns out at six and with busy pen and ringing hammer lays the foundation of competence. Luck whines, labour watches. Luck relies on chance; labour on character. Luck slips downwards to self-indulgence; labour strides upwards and aspires to independence. The conviction, therefore, is extending that diligence is the mother of good luck; in other words, that a man’s success in life will be proportionate to his efforts, to his industry, to his attention to small things.
Passage 5
[2016 CDS-I]
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