Sometimes the precious things of this world survive by just a hair. Just a hair. The difference between victory and defeat, between survival and ruin, between conquest and destruction, between glory and despair: these are not differences of tremendous magnitude. They are fine-line distinctions. And when I say fine-line, I mean very fine. Fortune loves to play games with us, and when she casts her dice to predict our fate, the outcome often hangs by a hair. By such threads does the fate of man so perilously hang.
