When you've burned the bridges behind you, don't go starting a fire on the one in front of you. - Steven Erikson

So much had changed inside him. He was no believer in causes, not any more. Certainty was an illusion, a lie. Fanaticism was poison in the soul, and the first victim in its inexorable, ever-growing list was compassion. Who could speak of freedom, when one's soul was bound in chains?

“What do you mean by a tyrant?”
“One whose blood was poisoned by the ambition to rule over others.”

You take your natural vices and call them virtues. Of which greed is the most despicable. That and betrayal of commonality. After all, whoever decided that competition is always and without exception a healthy attribute? Why that particular path to self-esteem? Your heel on the hand of the one below. This is worth something? Let me tell you, it’s worth nothing. Nothing lasting. Every monument that exists beyond the moment — no matter which king, emperor or warrior lays claim to it — is actually a testament to the common, to co-operation, to the plural rather than the singular.