Power corrupts.  It corrupts mightily and famously.  It corrupts hedonisticlaly, morally, severely. It turns virtue on its head and relegates expression to a game.  Power fuels the laundered images of fear and the abject lack of restraint.  Power goads and practices, flails and takes what it takes.  It can be a serene thing  it can be a strong thing, a mocking thing, a self satisfied thing.  Power can shine like a beacon, drop like a stone, crush like a runaway truck.  It lures.  It calls.  It wants.  It produces sweet songs to calm the ear, sweet reason to sack the instincts.  It may turn away from its prey and seem to be something else, a trivial thing that hides itself  from challenges and flies sweetly from inspection.  Power knows.  It sweats.  It works very very hard. It knows itself.  It knows its dupes.  It glorifies all.

From The New York Review of Books


From The Washington Post


..books   http://bschiff.com/


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