War is smaller in scale than in recent memory, but it is far more ambiguous, intractable, and nasty. Money flows more quickly than ever, but it is still somehow manages to gather and puddle in certain places, for certain people rather then others.

Books, like lives, are always unfinished even when they end, for to write is to struggle with contingency, to impose a certain false order upon the endless, and endlessly frustrating, nature of thought.

Politics is rather the creation of the best possible polity out of the deep inner needs of its citizenry - who are only some of its members.

Never before, I suspect, have so many people been so rich to so little purpose.

Ambition is ever tempered by experience. Otherwise, fortune makes fools of us all.

Paradoxically, the problems of politics often arise not in the form of a problem of scarcity, but as one of abundance.

All social space is suffused with political meanings and agendas, the very stones and walls a kind of testament to the ongoing struggles for liberation and justices.