Pudgy Ninja

“Fine,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I take your point. You've been going easy on me.”
“No,” Bredon said with a grim look. “That is far gone from the point I am trying to make.”
"What then?"
"I am trying to make you understand the game,” he said. “The entire game, not just the fiddling about with pieces. The point is not to play as tight as you can. The point is to be bold. To be dangerous. Be elegant.”
He tapped the board with two fingers. “Any man that's half awake can spot a trap that's laid for him. But to stride in boldly with a plan to turn it on its ear, that is a marvelous thing.” He smiled without any of the grimness leaving his face. "To set a trap and know someone will come in wary, ready with a trick of their own, then beat them. That is twice marvelous.”
Bredon's expression softened, and his voice became almost like an entreaty. “[Chess] reflects the subtle turning of the world. It is a mirror we hold to life. No one wins a dance, boy. The point of dancing is the motion that a body makes. A well-played game reveals the moving of a mind. There is a beauty to these things for those with eyes to see it.”
He gestured at the brief and brutal lay of pieces between us. “Look at that. Why would I ever want to win a game such as this?”
I looked down at the board. “The point isn't to win?” I asked.
“The point,” Bredon said grandly, “is to play a beautiful game.” He lifted his hands and shrugged, his face breaking into a beatific smile. “Why would I want to win anything other than a beautiful game?”

Paraphrased from The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss