Well, What Do You Expect? The Comedian

There... Poor Little Things. You See Them? Standing With Their Numbers On Their Blank, Indifferent Faces, Nuremberg In Miniature, The Ranks Of Painted Wooden Men... Poor Dominoes. Your Pretty Empire Took So Long To Build, Now, With A Snap Of History's Fingers Down It Goes.

It's Early Days. A Few Skeletons Are Bound To Keep Jumping Out Of The Closet.

As People Get More Desperate, History Suggests That They're Not Going To Rise In A Mighty Proletarian Tidal Wave And Wash Away Their Oppressors. They're Gonna Turn On Each Other.

Nothing Is Insoluble. Nothing Is Hopeless. Not While There's Life.

If The Audience Knew What They Wanted Then They Wouldn't Be The Audience, They Would Be The Artist.