ostensibly mis-informed, over-reactive, defensive, insecure, and worst of
all, cowardly. He is nothing more than a blustering hot wind.


And those are his good points

Gilligan wrote:
Well, what if it be my vice,
My pleasure to displease--to love men hate me!
Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better
'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical!
How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets,
From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel!
--The enervating friendship which enfolds you
Is like an open-laced Italian collar,
Floating around your neck in woman's fashion;
One is at ease thus,--but less proud the carriage!
The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion,
Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing
Hatred, she lends,--forbidding, stiffly fluted,
The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid;
Each enemy--another fold--a gopher,
Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory;
For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish,
Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo!


My God, that was beautiful! I couldn't bear to snip any of it for
brevity's sake.

But aren't you mixing your metaphorical characters a bit too freely? I
mean, Cyrano ne'er tilted any windbagmills no matter slow or fine they
grind.

DSK