Whereupon people would barge into his sanctuary, asking questions, making demands . . . and he would have to make decisions and take action. He was convinced that all action was futile, the prospect irritated him.
He did not expect reasonable conduct from human beings; most people were candidates for protective restraint. He simply wished they would leave him alone!—all but the few he chose for playmates. He was convinced that, left to himself, he would have long since achieved nirvana . . . dived into his belly button and disappeared from view like those Hindu jokers. Why couldn't they leave a man alone?
"...the last twenty or thirty years I've been a worthless, no-good parasite."
She yawned again. "Everybody knows that."
"Never mind the flattery. There comes a time in every man's life when he has to stop being sensible—a time to stand up and be counted—strike a blow for liberty—smite the wicked."
"Ummm . . ."
"So quit yawning, the time has come."
A time for action? Revolution, eh?