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I'm not talking about perseverance of a tangible goal in the face of opposition.
Is it in "To Kill A Mockingbird" where the ornery old bitch who, in her final stretches before death, kicks her morphine habit, and everyone lauds her strength of character?
Where were her balls earlier, when quitting it would've mattered? Oh right, it's about personal, inward satisfaction.
At the risk of making a blanket statement that I will later find exceptions to, the idea of accomplishing something useless for your own sense of well-being is really a decorated crutch for the insecurities of having no personal substance.
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