Chaque fois que j’entends un discours politique ou que je lis ceux qui nous dirigent, je suis effrayé depuis des années de n’entendre rien qui rende un son humain. Ce sont toujours les mêmes mots qui disent les mêmes mensonges. Et que les hommes s’en accommodent, que la colère du peuple n’ait pas encore brisé les fantoches, j’y vois la preuve que l

This is really the form that the dilemma takes. It is not solely a question of keeping the body alive; it is rather how not to be killed. Not to be killed becomes the great end, and morality takes its meaning from that center. Until that center is shifted, nothing real can be accomplished. It is the uncanny and perhaps unwitting recognition of this

I am talking about a temperament that distrusts public life or sees it as the realm in which generalization obliterates precision, and partial truth replaces candor and charged disclosure. By way of illustration: suppose the voice of the conspirator, Dickinson’s voice, is replaced by the voice of the tribunal. “We’re nobody, who are you?” That mess