You Don't Make The Poor Richer By

Never Trust A Man Who Has Not A Single Redeeming Vice.

There Is No Greater Mistake Than To Suppose That Platitudes, Smooth Words, Timid Policies, Offer Today A Path To Safety.

It May Well Be That We Shall By A Process Of Sublime Irony Have Reached A State In This Story Where Safety Will Be The Sturdy Child Of Terror, And Survival The Twin Brother Of Annihilation.

The Dictator, In All His Pride, Is Held In The Grip Of His Party Machine. He Can Go Forward; He Cannot Go Back. He Must Blood His Hounds And Show Them Sport, Or Else, Like Actaeon Of Old, Be Devoured By Them. All-strong Without, He Is All-weak Within.

My Hand Seemed Arrested By A Silent Veto.