Pride.

What, exactly, is pride? I will not bother with a dictionary, or references of any sort, so catch me on logical and argumental phallacies as I go along.

Pride as a pretence, as a façade in front of others to show how strong we are? That would be the pride of the caribou prancing in front of the wolves. He's starved, frozen half to death, looking death in the face and spitting in its ugly face. That's my idea of pride.

What happens when we see wolves everywhere? Are we so sure of "homo homini lupus est?"? I beg to disagree.

Even those I have called enemies have been able to sit down and have a coffee with me.

Even those online who had the means (their pages, with thousands of followers), the motive (a strong dislike for me) and the opportunity (well, not an opportunity given by a serious mistake on my part) have not gone onto the attack.

Why? I expect they have other fish to fry, and so have I. There goes an example of tacit armistice. That person bared his fangs, and found out I'm not exactly toothless. Then, each to his own.

Wolves, caribou, pride, fangs, I digress.

Pride, for me, is the ability to look in the mirror. What others think must come second to that.

Then there's begging, and all these quotes... written by... whom again? Experts?

I'll subject myself to solid evidence. Ockham's blade can only cut so deep and I have it very present that the absence of evidence is not evidence of the absence (was that not the point in discussing the affirmation of the consequence?)

Meanwhile, I keep waiting for the things (or people) I feel is worth the wait. Like you (yes, you) for example.

And if others think it robs me of my dignity, what do I care? My father's eyes on the mirror say otherwise.

My father's eyes, through which I see.