City folks actually shouldn’t be all that concerned over questions of happiness, contentment and satisfaction, for they always have the fall-back positions of routine and habit.
The Revolutionist becomes ultimately so tasteful and discriminating that, at times, he can barely bear to associate with even himself. (“I am the ONLY person for whom I have even the least personal respect, and even THAT’S on a slippery footing.”)
Along certain energy lines: only Man stands between profitable conversions, and wasteful short circuits.
From The Book of Nevers: Never trust a god with an ethnic name.
While others say, “I’ll NEVER find another love like my lost love,” or, “I’ll NEVER find another job so interesting,” or “I’ll NEVER be happy again,” the Revolutionist has quietly discovered that Never, never comes.