When lost, the ordinary might “retrace their footprints,” while under similar circumstances, the Revolutionist might set fire to his.



Long before modern City times ‘twas said that, “He who knows the passions of the gods, knows the destiny of Man,” but it turns out this is a pile of shit.



In the City, People live in each other’s face.
The Revolutionist can’t even stand to live in his OWN face.
(Remember, you recruits, always step back, for a decent view.)



Any conflict that can be resolved wasn’t much of a fuckin’ conflict.



The less is the apparent external pressure of the “tacit reality,” the greater becomes the importance of the inner, verbal one, AND, may I add, vicey versy.  (In the City they speak of a choice ‘tween “bread and bullets,” but how about between “status concern and third degree cognition burns.”)