Perhaps it is fitting that the best of our kind are so plagued with sadness, having seen so much of it themselves, the desire to inflict the same in those around them never truly takes root.

Power is but a mere stage and nothing more, in which a man puts on display not a character, but the nature of his own character, the very nakedness of a man’s soul for all the world to see.

If money was really a measure of mans worth, then why are not the temples and courts of the world staffed by accountants?

Every man who takes the breathe of life, has conflict written for him. A boy makes his conflict about power and the school yard his battlefield he will be a bully, yet mere meters away another man makes war against ignorance and the classroom his front line, he emerges the teacher. It is the great separator of men, not race, nor class but what he fights for and where he stages it.

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Life it seems, at least in my understanding is not too different from the timeouts from my youth. Funny how the passing of those minutes in that corner felt like years, yet life is also measured in years. It is not something that is particularly enjoyed, just endured for the time being, like timeouts eventually it to shall come to pass.

Such is the inescapable nature of truth, it is like traveling in a circle, in running from away from it one is also simultaneously running towards it once again. The nature of the journey never changes, just the man making it.

In my experience the people the people that fought in school were weak minded, happy to have their battlefields being merely the school yard, to conquer only their fellow classmates.

Be a student of a school, and one will learn for a time. Make the world a teacher and one will learn for a lifetime.