Meeting the man, again

I like words. I write well (most of the time) and I fell in love with words a long time ago. Sometime my words are beautiful and sometimes they are rough. Sometimes my words lurk in dark alleys and mug other words for their vowels.

Somewhere in this love affair with words I realized that words have power and they have meaning. I have sometimes given my word too quickly, or not quickly enough. I have always tried to keep my word. That's when your word means something.

Sometimes you just shut up and let someone else do the words for you:

“People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest.” - Hermann Hesse

“Honor is simply the morality of superior men.” - Henry Louis Mencken

“Honor is the inner garment of the Soul; the first thing put on by it with the flesh, and the last it layeth down at its separation from it.”- Akhenaton (King of Egypt, 14th century BC)

“He has honor if he holds himself to an ideal of conduct though it is inconvenient, unprofitable, or dangerous to do so.” - Walter Lippmann

And finally, a semi-fictitious account of a probably real person. But the sentiment remains true.

"Live with a man 40 years. Share his house, his meals. Speak on every subject. Then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge. And on that day, you will finally meet the man." - Xiongnu

Who are you in the volcano? Who are the people you know when they are in the volcano?

Words.

If you weighed yours, what would they be worth?

Burn with me