"It won't be my fault if I fail.

You are English, Sir ?" Shelton nodded.
"Forgive my asking; your voice lacks something I've nearly always noticed in the English a kind of--'comment cela s'appelle'-- cocksureness, coming from your nation's greatest quality." "And what is that ?" asked Shelton with a smile.
"Complacency," replied the youthful foreigner.
"Complacency!" repeated Shelton; "do you call that a great quality ?" "I should rather say, monsieur, a great defect in what is always a great people.

You are certainly the most highly-civilised nation on the earth; you suffer a little from the fact.

If I were an English preacher my desire would be to prick the heart of your complacency." Shelton, leaning back, considered this impertinent suggestion.
"Hum!" he said at last, "you'd be unpopular; I don't know that we're any cockier than other nations." The young foreigner made a sign as though confirming this opinion.
"In effect," said he, "it is a sufficiently widespread disease.

Look at these people here"-- and with a rapid glance he pointed to the inmates of the carnage,--"very average persons! What have they done to warrant their making a virtuous nose at those who do not walk as they do?
That old rustic, perhaps, is different--he never thinks at all--but look at those two occupied with their stupidities about the price of hops, the prospects of potatoes, what George is doing, a thousand things all of that sort--look at their faces; I come of the bourgeoisie myself--have they ever shown proof of any quality that gives them the right to pat themselves upon the back?
No fear! Outside potatoes they know nothing, and what they do not understand they dread and they despise--there are millions of that breed.