Strength of character means the ability to overcome resentment

“Strength of character means the ability to overcome resentment against others, to hide hurt feelings, and to forgive quickly.” Thus declares Lawrence G. Lovasik, and in these words, he unveils the hidden armor of the soul. For men often mistake strength for muscle and conquest, but the ancients knew that the truest might is not of the body, but of the spirit. To master others may bring fleeting glory, but to master one’s own resentment, one’s own hurt, one’s own desire for vengeance—that is the mark of true greatness.

The heart is easily wounded, for words cut sharper than steel, and betrayal pierces deeper than the spear. To yield to anger, to be consumed by bitterness, is the common path. Yet strength of character lies in another way: to feel the wound but not be ruled by it, to rise above insult, and to answer not with venom but with grace. This is no weakness—it is heroism of the soul, for it requires more courage to forgive than to strike back, more discipline to endure pain in silence than to roar with wrath.

History offers many examples, but consider Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for twenty-seven years in the darkness of Robben Island. He was stripped of freedom, mocked, and denied his dignity. Many would have emerged from such torment hardened with resentment and vengeance. Yet Mandela chose a different road. He hid the hurt of long years, forgave his oppressors, and sought reconciliation rather than revenge. By doing so, he revealed a strength of character so profound that it transformed not only himself but an entire nation. His greatness was not in power seized, but in forgiveness offered.

The ancients, too, praised such discipline. The Stoic philosophers taught that anger is a chain, binding the soul to those who wronged us, but forgiveness is freedom. In Christian tradition, to forgive “seventy times seven” was the command not of weakness, but of divine strength—a call to rise beyond the passions of the moment and to dwell in the higher realm of love. To forgive quickly is to refuse to let bitterness take root, for bitterness, once seeded, grows into hatred that consumes the one who bears it.

O children of tomorrow, do not think that strength of character lies in striking your enemy down with words or deeds. That path is easy and common. Instead, seek the rarer path: to conquer yourself. When insulted, do not let anger master you. When betrayed, do not let bitterness make its home in your soul. Choose instead the quiet nobility of restraint, the healing act of forgiveness, and the hidden courage of enduring pain without spilling it upon others. In this way, you will walk as giants among men.

The lesson is clear: true strength is inward. It is the stillness of the mountain that endures storms without shaking, the deep river that carries wounds yet flows onward. To overcome resentment, to hide hurt, to forgive quickly—these are not signs of weakness, but of mastery. They show a soul that has chosen peace over poison, light over darkness, freedom over chains.

Practically, let each person do this: when wounded by others, pause before you speak. Ask yourself, “Will anger heal me, or will forgiveness free me?” Write your hurts in secret if you must, but do not cast them like stones at others. Instead, let them dissolve in the river of mercy. Train your heart each day with small acts of forgiveness, so that when great wrongs come, you are prepared. In time, forgiveness will not be a burden but a natural response, swift and liberating.

Thus remember Lovasik’s words: “Strength of character means the ability to overcome resentment against others, to hide hurt feelings, and to forgive quickly.” Hold them as a shield for your soul. For the world will wound you, but your power lies in how you rise. And he who forgives swiftly walks not as a captive of pain, but as a master of destiny, shining with the noblest strength of all.