He probably is proud.
"Conceal me what I am, and be my aid/For such disguise as haply shall become/The form of my intent." (Twelfth Night, 1.2.53-55)
I tend to believe that humans possess a need for extensive social contact with peers.
And ideas are bulletproof, but one cannot hide behind ideas forever--unfortunately.
Action and reaction.
The meanings of names can be so ironic sometimes.
"Knowledge is pain."
Eventually telling yourself that without pain you'd have no pleasure fails to console.
A broken bone once healed is stronger.
"And in this labyrinth where night is blind the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind"
"Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?"
"Angel or father, friend or phantom? Who is it there, staring...?"
"Those who speak of what they know, learn too late that prudent silence is wise."
The Phantom of the Opera
(play by Andrew Lloyd Webber based on the novel by Gaston Leroux)
Think Outside the Box
. . .
. . .
. . .
"Standing slowly--deliberately--, he stared, steady and straight, into the dark eyes of the uninvited guest.
'Greetings Sun's Wrath, but welcome are you not.'--'Tread another path.' Peace reigned from his voice.
'Who are you that knows and adresses me so? Why stand you there? Know you indeed where you stand?'
'I know where I stand--on this opposite side of the equals sign, and in the path you mean to tread.'
'Have my words failed to carry the full burden of my meaning?' Sarcasm.
'Was truth spoken by him who named you father-killer?'
A glint of anger darkened his eyes.
To most, his reckless charge was a flash, yet lightning knocked him to the floor.
With a chuckle, he issued his answer--his speech severly smooth, but sooth only on the surface. 'Given to my sword was the sobriquet Sky Blade.'
Suprise flashed quickly across his face.
'I charge you to choose the warnings well.'--'An apple a day keeps the doctor away.' Amusement slipping into his voice.
'What are these things you say?--so laced with ambiguity .'--'No matter!--I prefer my path.'
'Then face the last law of the brilliant knight you shall.'"
There is more here than meets the unobservant eye. Everything for a reason.
While sitting in the upper reaches of a tall oak amidst a field of varying trees -- widening beams of light cast through the holes of the topmost foliage -- overlooking a small lake -- glances of light reflecting off the shallow waves of pure, bright blue -- I reflected -- silently amidst the beautiful music of silence under the sky, blue with small puffs of pure white cumulus placed sparingly about the sun -- upon the nature and industriousness of a leaf, which is -- like everything else, made of atoms; made of protons, neutrons, and electrons; made of quarks of every shape, size, and origin; made of matter, which in another form we call energy -- beautiful.