I like to think of pride as if it were a bag, the prouder the man the smaller his bag. Proud men with their small bags are filled easily, once filled so they must announce that to the world and engage in pride, the humble however are different. The mysterious guiding force of the universe that fills these bags of proud and humble alike with things worth being proud about, the humble though walk life this life with bigger bags whom this force not only fills with things but is compelled to in attempt to fill that emptiness. Perhaps that is why the humble more often that not get so much more, yet never boast about it for they know there is still yet more to receive.
The most painful, the only real death, is not the one where you are buried by others rather, its when a man buries himself because of others.
I used to think this world was a gift from our ancestors, a possession that we may bend to our will to our liking. That was what I used to think. The older I get however the nature of relationship changed, man and this world is not of ownership. What is often mistaken as a gift from those who come before, is rather a temporary loan from those who have yet to come, our descendants. Man does not own, merely charged with the duty to keep it and take care of it, the only say he has in the matter is what kind of world he will hand back.