Dagger in hand

A man of prodigious fortune, coming to add his opinion to some light discussion that was going on casually at his table, began precisely thus: "It can only be a liar or an ignoramus who will say otherwise than," and so on. Pursue that philosophical point, dagger in hand.

--Michel de Montaigne, Of the art of discussion.

Stab back: cmnewman99-at-yahoo.com


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Sunday, February 02, 2003
I'm back. I didn't see my shadow today. Nor was I looking. Make of that whatever omen thou wilt. I woke up this morning in a cabin in Big Bear, where we had skiied all day yesterday. This evening I played chess on the beach with my family and watched the sun go down. Not a bad birthday. I do love it here.

How old am I, you ask? I'm that same age at which Pete Townsend tells us he was still wandering in a haze, wondering why everyone he met seemed like they were lost in a maze. (Yes, I know. I for one am going to give him the benefit of the doubt as long as it is possible to do so.) If Pete's description was accurate, I'm in a distinctly better place than he was then. I most assuredly do not think I have some kind of divine right to the blues. Anzi. I have so much to be grateful for, I don't know where to begin. Well, yes I do. A woman who against every probability chose to cast her lot with me, whose love and beauty leave me little else to strive for, yet whose spirit forbids me the easy torpor of complacency. A son blessed with beauty and talent far surpassing what could have come from me, whom I can only watch in wonder, trying as best I can to help him harness them and build a character worthy of them. I am fortunate indeed. And on this day when so many who were as fortunate are in mourning, I can feel only humility and gratitude.

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