Status Updates From The Man Who Was Thursday: A...

I've guessed a bit of where this is going, but that only makes me more surprised and enthralled than if I hadn't

You, my poor fellow, are an anarchist deprived of the help of that law and organization which is so essential to anarchy.

Gregory struck out with his stick at the lamppost, and then at the tree.
"About this and this," he cried; "about order and anarchy. There is your precious order, that lean, iron lamp, ugly and barren; and there is anarchy, rich, living, reproducing itself—there is anarchy, sendid in green and gold."
"All the same," replied Syme patiently, "just at present you only see the tree by the light of the lamp."

And it is ways the humble man who talks too much; the proud man watches himself too closely.

"You don't expect me," he said, "to revolutionize society on this lawn?"
Syme looked straight into his eyes and smiled sweetly.
"No, I don't," he said; "but I suppose that if you were serious about your anarchism, that is exactly what you would do."

"Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories."