Mob Quotes

Forgetting himself for a moment, Francis brought his hand out from under his frock in order to bless the multitude. When the people saw his wound they bellowed madly. The women dashed forward with mantles outstretched to catch the drops; the men thrust in their hands and anointed their faces with blood. The villagers' expressions grew savage, and so did their souls. They longed to be able to tear the Saint limb from limb in order for each of them to claim a mouthful of his flesh, for they wanted to make him their own, to have him enter them so that they could become one with a saint—could be sanctified. Blind rage had overpowered them; their eyes were leaden, their lips ringed with froth.

Wanting to leave communist Russia is all fine and well | Actually leaving the country is where you might run into a few setbacks. Obtaining a visa for a simple vacation outside the soviet block was a long and arduous process. To immigrate to a free society was about as easy as finding whiskey in a church.

Those who wish to seek out the cause of miracles and to understand the things of nature as philosophers, and not to stare at them in astonishment like fools, are soon considered heretical and impious, and proclaimed as such by those whom the mob adores as the interpreters of nature and the gods. For these men know that, once ignorance is put aside, that wonderment would be taken away, which is the only means by which their authority is preserved.

I’m going to make you feel so good,” I swore to her, “that you’re going to not just scream my name, but forget yours.

You are hard at work madam ," said the man near her.Yes," Answered Madam Defarge ; " I have a good deal to do."What do you make, Madam ?"Many things."For instance ---"For instance," returned Madam Defarge , composedly ,Shrouds."The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, feeling it mightily close and oppressive .

In Astrology, the moon, among its other meanings, has that of "the common people," who submit (they know not why) to any independent will that can express itself with sufficient energy. The people who guillotined the mild Louis XVI died gladly for Napoleon. The impossibility of an actual democracy is due to this fact of mob-psychology. As soon as you group men, they lose their personalities. A parliament of the wisest and strongest men in the nation is liable to behave like a set of schoolboys, tearing up their desks and throwing their inkpots at each other. The only possibility of co-operation lies in discipline and autocracy, which men have sometimes established in the name of equal rights.

Father, perhaps you’ve forgotten the fact that when my child was conceived, neither Bree nor I knew who the other person was.” “Ai, ai, ai… Alessandro, open your mind, please! It was fate, my boy.” “Oh, good God, here we go again,” Arturo threw his hands up. “Don’t you have a puppy to go kick?” Alessandro asked, his brother’s voice grating on his already stretched nerves.

Everyone thought the mob was done after RICO.... And they were. Then the Towers came down. Overnight, the feds shifted three-quarters of their personnel into anti-terrorism and the mob made a comeback. Shit, they even made a fortune overcharging for debris removal from Ground Zero.... 9/11 saved the mafia.

I thought of how proud he was when he took the marks- cutting the skin of his throat in a long slash and then packing it with ashes until keloid scars rose up.He called it his second smile.

But he could never be a made guy himself because of his tainted blood, some Sunset Park Puerto Rican on his father's side, even though he was raised Italian. Chili didn't care to be made anyway, get into all that bullshit having to do with respect. It was bad enough having to treat these guys like they were your heroes, smile when they made some stupid remark they thought was funny.

All their lives they had slaved at some kind of dull, heavy labor, behind desks and counters, in the fields and at tedious machines of all sorts, saving their pennies and dreaming of the leisure that would be theirs when they had enough. Finally that day came. They could draw a weekly income of ten or fifteen dollars. Where else should they go but California, the land of sunshine and oranges? Once there, they discover that sunshine isn’t enough. They get tired of oranges, even of avocado pears and passion fruit. Nothing happens. They don’t know what to do with their time. They haven’t the mental equipment for leisure, the money nor the physical equipment for pleasure. Did they slave so long just to go to an occasional Iowa picnic? What else is there? They watch the waves come in at Venice. There wasn’t any ocean where most of them came from, but after you’ve seen one wave, you’ve seen them all. The same is true of the airplanes at Glendale. If only a plane would crash once in a while so that they could watch the passengers being consumed in a “holocaust of flame,” as the newspapers put it. But the planes never crash. Their boredom becomes more and more terrible. They realize that they’ve been tricked and burn with resentment. Every day of their lives they read the newspapers and went to the movies. Both fed them on lynchings, murder, sex crimes, explosions, wrecks, love nests, fires, miracles, revolutions, wars. Their daily diet made sophisticates of them. The sun is a joke. Oranges can’t titillate their jaded palates. Nothing can ever be violent enough to make taut their slack minds and bodies. They have been cheated and betrayed. They have slaved and saved for nothing.

Another deputy threw down a clear plastic trash bag with my orange jumpsuit. I reached for the bag and was knocked down to the floor with an overhead right, another shove, and I was inside the 4X6 room. The heavy white door was already closing behind me. The walls here were made of hard white rubber. There was a small shower head towards the back of the tiny cell and a grated hole in the middle of the floor | I assumed that the hold would be my toilet. The cell reeked of anguish.

He’s a murdering chud,” Zil was yelling.“What do you want to do? Lynch him?” Astrid demanded.That stopped the flow for a second as kids tried to figure out what “lynch” meant. But Zil quickly recovered.“I saw him do it. He used his powers to kill Harry.”“I was trying to stop you from smashing my head in!” Hunter shouted.“You’re a lying mutant freak!”“They think they can do anything they want,” another voice shouted.Astrid said, as calmly as she could while still pitching her voice to be heard, “We are not going down that path, people, dividing up between freaks and normals.”“They already did it!” Zil cried. “It’s the freaks acting all special and like their farts don’t stink.”That earned a laugh.“And now they’re starting to kill us,” Zil cried.Angry cheers.Edilio squared his shoulders and stepped into the crowd. He went first to Hank, the kid with the shotgun. He tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Give me that thing.”“No way,” Hank said. But he didn’t seem too certain.“You want to have that thing fire by accident and blow someone’s face off?” Edilio held his hand out. “Give it to me, man.”Zil rounded on Edilio. “You going to make Hunter give up his weapon? Huh? He’s got powers, man, and that’s okay, but the normals can’t have any weapon? How are we supposed to defend ourselves from the freaks?”“Man, give it a rest, huh?” Edilio said. He was doing his best to sound more weary than angry or scared. Things were already bad enough. “Zil, you want to be responsible if that gauge goes off and kills Astrid? You want to maybe give that some thought?”Zil blinked. But he said, “Dude, I’m not scared of Sam.”“Sam won’t be your problem, I will be,” Edilio snapped, losing patience. “Anything happens to her, I’ll take you down before Sam ever gets the chance.”Zil snorted derisively. “Ah, good little boy, Edilio, kissing up to the chuds. I got news for you, dilly dilly, you’re a lowly normal, just like me and the rest of us."“I’m going to let that go,” Edilio said evenly, striving to regain his cool, trying to sound calm and in control, even though he could hardly take his eyes off the twin barrels of the shotgun. “But now I’m taking that shotgun.”“No way!” Hank cried, and the next thing was an explosion so loud, Edilio thought a bomb had gone off. The muzzle flash blinded him, like camera flash going off in his face.Someone yelled in pain.Edilio staggered back, squeezed his eyes shut, trying to adjust. When he opened them again the shotgun was on the ground and the boy who’d accidentally fired it was holding his bruised hand, obviously shocked.Zil bent to grab the gun. Edilio took two steps forward and kicked Zil in the face. As Zil fell back Edilio made a grab for the shotgun. He never saw the blow that turned his knees to water and filled his head with stars.He fell like a sack of bricks, but even as he fell he lurched forward to cover the shotgun.Astrid screamed and launched herself down the stairs to protect Edilio.Antoine, the one who had hit Edilio, was raising his bat to hit Edilio again, but on the back swing he caught Astrid in the face.Antoine cursed, suddenly fearful. Zil yelled, “No, no, no!”There was a sudden rush of running feet. Down the walkway, into the street, echoing down the block.

Not…” Bree struggled for the right words. “All my life, I’ve just wanted someone to put me first. I thought Alessandro was that man. But even after everything Bernardo has done, I mean, Arturo wouldn’t have ever shot Alessandro if Bernardo hadn’t raised him to be a monster, even knowing that, Alessandro refuses to cut his ties with his father. So…yeah, I guess I do blame Alessandro for getting shot. God, that sounds so horrible.” Bree covered her face with her hands again.

I understand Mrs. Donovan is a free woman, Mr. Dardano. It’s all for a good cause after all, isn’t it?” “Fifty thousand dollars,” Alessandro countered, deadly calm though inside he was fairly trembling with rage. “One hundred thousand dollars,” Hadley countered, getting to his feet, appearing to enjoy the spectacle of all eyes being on the two of them now. Alessandro stood, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Bree was staring at them both, her mouth open. Kevin smiled at him. “Three hundred thousand dollars,” “One million dollars,” Alessandro shot back, his eyes clouding with rage. So help him, if the son of a bitch opened his mouth, Alessandro was gonna shove his fist down his throat. The entire ballroom was dead silent. Holding its breath. “Uh…Going once?” Alex announced. Kevin met Alessandro’s gaze, smirking. “Going twice?” Kevin lifted his hands in surrender. “The best man won. I hope you get more than a dance, my friend,” “Sold,” Alex announced, slamming the little gavel down. Alessandro felt a rush of both victory and relief as he stared at Brianna. He walked up to her and extended his hand. “Darling?

I agree that sometimes it is difficult to choose between right and wrong, but not between right and stupid.

Bree turned to him and gave him an uneasy nod. She had no idea if they were gonna make things better or worse, but she had to know for herself what Francesca had gone through, where she lived and why she made the decisions she had. If she could find out more about the ill-fated romance between Francesca and Adriano, maybe she and Alessandro could avoid a similar, miserable ending.

His scowl deepened. “If he wanted to hurt Will, he could have easily come here when I was at work, but no, he respected your feelings, and he allowed us to come together in our own time.” “As opposed to what? Dragging me up by my hair to the altar?” Bree asked. “Well that was his suggestion. I suggested a more diplomatic approach.

Emphasizing the crowd means de-emphasizing individual humans in the design of society, and when you ask people not to be people, they revert to bad, mob-like behaviors.

Fear is the primary tool of the mafiya. It's how they contain their vast criminal enterprise. For the mafiya, fear is the grease in the wheel. Fear is much stronger than love | Fear lasts much longer. Love fades and is replaced by hatred and contempt. Fear lingers and brings forth other emotions such as doubt. Fear encourages procrastination and cowardice. Besides, you always hurt the ones you love. Most are too afraid to hurt the ones they fear.

This democracy thing, or Demoxie, whatever it is, good god. Under the guise of having every voice heard, you create mob rule, a filterless society where secrets are crimes.

This was a quarrel they did not need | It was one they knew they could never win. Beat us with a bat and we come back with Jiggers | Stick us with a knife and we bring the heaters | Plug one of us, and you'd better murder us all. We were the authentic spectacle, and the fact they left with their lives intact, no bones broken, or a limb missing, was miracle enough.

Nicky turned and bolted. He’d only had about a thirty foot head start and a few were closing ground on him quickly. He cursed his hundred-dollar shoes and his vanity. The shoes looked great, but were definitely not made for running, nor was the suit he was wearing. He vowed that if he made it out of there alive, he’d only wear sneakers and track suits for the rest of his days. "Of course, I’ll probably be laughed out of the mob, but I don’t care at this point.

Bree grit her teeth and lunged for him but Brian held her back and Will spoke up instead. “You go away!” Will cried back angrily. “I know you did sumting dat made my mommy mad at my daddy. Is you fault!” “I suggest you put a muzzle on your brat and get back in the living room,” Bernardo ordered. “Careful, Father. This is none of your concern,” Alessandro said. “Are you kidding me?” Bree asked. “Of course this is his concern because he’s the only one you give a damn about. You’ll do anything for him. Absolutely anything even if it means betraying me or Will or God forbid Gianni.” “That is not true. I would never—” “It is true!” Bree yelled. “Everything you’ve done has proven that.” “Look, every marriage has problems and that is no reason to turn back on the vows you made to each other,” Bernardo pointed out. “You made a promise to honor the terms of the O'Reiley/Dardano vendetta. Be careful before you renege on those vows, Mrs. Dardano.” “You and your stupid vendetta!” Bree hissed. “Begun by a man who couldn’t handle the fact that he couldn’t have what he wanted! God it must be genetic. Well, I guess I shouldn’t blame you, Alessandro. Knowing Bernardo and Adriano, at least you come by it honestly.

For those of you that truly believe there's no such thing as the mafiya, I would be more than happy to sell you your own fast lane on the Belt Parkway, you know, so you can avoid the rush hour commute. The mafiya is real as a heart attack and, contrary to popular consensus, has been steadily growing in power since its inception in the 1920s. Italian organized crime just doesn't operate out in the open anymore, former mayor Rudy made sure of that.

Among men, it seems, historically at any rate, the processes of coordination and disintegration follow each other with great regularity, and the index of the coordination is the measure of the disintegration which follows. There is no mob like a group of well-drilled soldiers when they have thrown off their discipline. And there is no lostness like that which comes to a man when a perfect and certain pattern has dissolved about him. There is no hater like one who has greatly loved.

If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you; but if you really make them think, they'll hate you.

Mmmmmnobaconeggsgottagostore…” She slowly ran her hand down his forearm and gave him a sleepy smile as she sat up. Her eyes remained closed as she rested her hand on his shoulder and before he could realize her intention or even remember his manners and stop her, her mouth was on his in a kiss that was so soft and sweet Alessandro could do nothing but fall into it with her.

Will, was not as taken with the photo of the new baby as the grown ups around him. “It look like Mr. Potato Head.” “I’m sure your baby sister will appreciate that,” Alessandro said with a wry grin. “A girl? It’s a girl?” Will asked with a grimace. “That’s right,” Bree announced as Vanessa and Brian congratulated them. “I can play wif Gianni but what we gonna do wif a girl?” he asked, handing the picture back to them. “Nope, send it backand get another boy dis time.

Yeah, well, he’s having a hard time dealing, you know?” Bree asked uneasily. “That’s understandable. How are you coping?” he asked, reaching out and touching her arm. Gianni shifted in her arms and looked down at Colin’s hand. “It’s taking some getting used to. Let’s just say it’s a bit of a relief to take a break for a little while. I’m more worried about the kids though and this is affecting them so I’m hoping to get in to see Dr. Graham. She was a big help to Will a while back.” “Oh, yeah. I hear great things about her. You know she doesn’t just work with kids, right?” Bree narrowed her eyes but smiled in amusement. “Is that a hint?” “Not a very subtle one, I know. Hey Gianni, how you doing, huh? Wow, you’re sure getting big,” Colin remarked. “He sure is. He’s almost standing all by himself now, aren’t you, Gianni? You wanna show Colin?” Bree asked. “Nooo,” Gianni insisted, burying his face in Bree’s neck. “Oh, speaking of Mr. Cranky Pants, huh? He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Gianni lifted his head and then looked down, and it was then that Bree noticed Colin still had his hand on her arm. “Dat,” Gianni said. Bree cleared her throat and took a step back, not wanting to make the movement seem like she was uncomfortable with Colin touching her.

When you need to borrow money the Mob seems like a better deal I think. 'You don't pay me back I break both yer legs.' Is that all? You won't take my house or wreck my credit rating? Fine where do I sign. Legs? Fine. You don't even have to sign anything.

She moved to get up, but the man held her down as her car exploded next. Bree lifted her head and looked back at the wall of fire behind them. “Well. We’re well and truly screwed now.

The Mob essentially created the term 'stand-up comic'—according to eighty-six-year-old comedian Dick Curtis: 'The Outfit used to manage fighters. A stand-up fighter is a guy that is a puncher. A stand-up guy was a guy who was tough and you could depend on. The Outfit managed fighters and they managed clubs that booked comics, so the term found its way into the lexicon of nightclubs. A guy who just stood there and punched jokes—joke, joke, joke—he was a stand-up comic.

Alessandro gathered her into his arms and flipped her over so that she was on top of him, her blonde hair falling over him like a gold curtain. The strands tickled his face as she righted herself over him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as he pushed up inside of her, and Alessandro reached up, bringing her mouth down, wanting to taste that swollen lip. Her breath wafted over his face, and he grabbed her hips, pulling her down as he pushed up deeper, wanting to fill her to her very soul.

Hello, darling,” Alessandro smiled at her. Oh, that smile. Bree wanted to close her eyes, press her hands against her eyes and keep them shut forever so she wouldn’t see that smile. She must have had the question on her face, the knowledge on her face because as she looked at him now, something flickered in his eyes. Guilt. Oh God. “Mommy, look. I make good bouncies. See?” Will said, dribbling the ball. “I gonna be a basset ball player when I gwoed up.” The little boy’s voice sounded far away as Bree narrowed in on Alessandro and the look in his eyes. “Brian. I want you and Vanessa to take Will and Gianni out for a little while.” “Oh but we’re having a good time out here, aren’t we Gianni?” Alessandro asked, tickling Gianni who squealed and curled inward. “Now,” Bree said, her voice tight. Will stopped bouncing the ball and held it against his chest looking at both of them, picking up on the angry tension that suddenly covered them all. “Uh oh. I tink mommy’s mad.” “I’m not leaving you alone in your condition, Bree. Alessandro, we just came from the hospital. Colin’s awake,” Brian informed him, his voice tight with anger. “You spoke to Colin?” Alessandro asked, meeting Bree’s eyes. “I did. And Carrie.” He looks like a cornered animal. And what do Dardanos do when they’re cornered? They lie. They cheat. Oh God. “Fine, then can you just take the boys upstairs?” Bree said, speaking to Brian, but not moving her gaze from her husband. “Come on, guys. Let’s go play upstairs for a while,” Vanessa said walking past Bree and taking Gianni from Alessandro’s lap.

I like that,” Bree admitted. “It’s like…it’s never too late to change.” Her eyes met his, and she hoped he understood that she meant it for him as well as for herself. She wanted Alessandro to give in to the good she knew was in him and leave the Dardano family behind. “I forgot about that. I feel rather ashamed of it now. Because of the things I’ve done. Then I was looking at this tiny creature here, and you’re going to think I’m mad but…every time I look at him, he looks different to me. He’s the same boy, but something in him is always changing. It’s not a physical thing that I can explain to you, but it’s…like…I don’t know,” Alessandro said shrugging and lowering his head. He sat on the bed next to her and stared at the incubator. The baby’s eyes were open, staring back, blinking slowly, sleepily. “You’re seeing him become a person. Like all the parts of him are coming together and making this tiny person’s soul. He was one person in here,” Bree pointed to her stomach. “And now he’s changing on the outside so he can be a part of the world.” “That’s it,” Alessandro nodded. “He’s a part of the world now. My world, in a completely different way than when he was inside of you. It’s like having two sons and watching them become one as a slow minute by minute process. He’s never going to stop changing. What he thinks and feels now is not going to be what he thinks and feels tomorrow or fifty years from now.” “It’s the same for you,” Bree said, closing her fingers over his on the bed. “I don’t want to forget that again, Brianna. I don’t ever want to forget that I can change.” He looked so earnest that Bree couldn’t help bringing his hand to her lips. “Then don’t.

Crime was my career. I considered myself a craftsman | a true professional. Everybody has a craft they practice. Clean or dirty, safe or dangerous, we all have a viable skill and a part to play in the enigma that comprises our world. A professional is a person who earns moneys for practicing their craft. Having labored many years and becoming experienced in a particular skill, you learn the gradations and eventually reach the title of master.

Last night, Bree had been taken. Thoroughly, utterly taken. Gently or roughly, it didn’t matter. This man had reached into the darkest part of her mind, had brought out and laid bare the desires she admitted to no one but herself in her most secret, quiet moments. Her hunger had been allowed to run free. There’d been no guilt, no remorse. Nothing was ‘wrong’. And God, the feeling of freedom was damned addictive. What did that say about her? How could she love Michael, yet give a part of her she’d never felt comfortable sharing with Michael to this stranger.

Lies. All lies. Bree was shaking so hard she bit her tongue, but she didn’t even feel the blood in her mouth. Kill her husband and seduce the widow. She thought she’d never felt as angry as when Michael died, but this, oh God, her entire body was a live wire of rage. She was so furious, she was almost numb. So numb that she didn’t even feel herself reaching for the gun she had pulled out of the glove compartment and pocketed. So numb that she didn’t feel herself lift the gun and aim. So numb that she saw nothing, but his eyes, staring back at her in wide eyed surprise and confusion. She felt so numb she didn’t even feel herself pull the trigger.

The mob not only grabs hold of art without being entitled to do so, but it also enters the artist. It takes up residence inside the artist and smashes a few holes in the wall, windows to the outer world: The mob wants to be seen.

Kate faced the crowd. They were just eyes and teeth to her, just spit and voices. It was a moment, even, before they became people: a man with one blind eye, another whose neck was thick with lumps and weeping wounds of scrofula. The poorest of the market.At Kate's feet, Drina. Her scarf and shirt were torn open.

I know. You’re a male escort, and you were on your way to your latest…what are female clients called? Not Johns…Jean’s?” He choked on his cracker, and Bree reached over and patted his back until his coughing fit passed. “Afraid not, darling.” He wheezed. “Male stripper?” He snorted. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted by that.” “Some kind of business tycoon, right?” Bree asked. “A pretty Donald Trump?” “Pretty? Oh dear.” Bree raised her hands. “Handsome. Handsome. Better?

They stared at each other, and Alessandro seriously considered turning away from his father’s wishes and just taking this woman and running off somewhere with her. He could imagine being happy with her. He felt free, easy. The feeling was heady. But dangerously so. He could never just toss aside his father’s demands that way, even if he wanted to. There would be too much at stake.

My, my, and you accuse the Dardanos of trying to run the world. As you so succinctly put it, you have no desire to be a part of my life, which means you have no say in where I choose to live, sunshine. I, on the other hand, made no such declaration.” “God, I hate you,” Bree seethed. Alessandro smiled and tapped the end of her nose playfully, resisting the urge to tear her thick coat off of her and take her right against the wall. “You keep telling yourself that, love. We both know better.

A second red-orange spearhead leaps straight at O'Shaughnessy. The whole world seems to stand still. Then the gun behind it crashes, and there's a cataclysm of pain all over him, and a shock goes through him as if he ran head-on into a stone wall.A voice from the car says blurredly, while the ground rushes up to meet him, 'Finish him up, you guys! I'm getting so I don't trust their looks no more, no matter how stiff they act!' ("Jane Brown's Body")

Crowd is just a bunch of heads, it is their leader who is the mind.

We have nothing!” Bree reached out and slapped him with all her might. He couldn’t know the baby she carried was his. Not ever. Alessandro’s dark eyes flashed angrily at her for a split second, making Bree’s insides tense in anticipation of his rage, but then he smiled at her, his hand going to her thigh. “Well, I was hoping we’d get to know each other a little better before delving into S & M, but I’m game if you are, sunshine.” “I want you to get out,” “And I want you naked screaming my name, now that you know it,” Alessandro growled, leaning in so that his breath brushed across her face in a tantalizing caress.

Bree rubbed her belly. Figured; Alessandro wasn’t one to live in quiet but strained tension. She stared up at the fabric of the canopy and then squeezed her eyes shut. “Alessandro, considering that the outside world has the sterile hospital rooms, not to mention the epidurals, yeah. For goodness sake, Alessandro. You know we can’t stay here forever. I’m entering my eighth month here.” “I must say, I’m surprised you’re so anxious to leave.” “Why?” Bree asked, turning to look at his strong profile. “You know why, Brianna. As soon as we walk out that door, you and I are over.” Bree felt a guilty tightening in her chest. “Perhaps that’s what you want, though.” “That’s not fair,” Bree whispered even as she feared he was right. No. He’s wrong. I love him. She wasn’t going to let anyone shake what she and Alessandro had built here. She’d let her family know that she wanted Alessandro in her life and that she wanted to be a family with him. “Thanks for your confidence in me, though. Really.

She realized he wasn’t listening to music and gave him a curious look of amusement as she picked up the cover to an audio book. ‘What To Expect When You’re Expecting.’ God forgive me, I love this man. “Thought I should be informed, you know?” Alessandro explained sheepishly. Bree tried to tear her gaze away from his gleaming chest. “Plus all the lactating and dilating and placenta talk does wonders to crush any man’s libido.

Alessandro shrugged and pushed the blade in, dragging it down the man’s skin, making him cry out. He struck him again with his fist, blood spurting onto Alessandro as well. “Did Arturo tell you that the mother of my child was in that limo? She’s carrying my baby inside of her, and that her son was in the limo too? I’m sure he did. I’m sure he left explicit instructions as to who exactly you were supposed to dispose of, didn’t he?” “He’ll kill me. I swear, he’ll kill me,” the man cried, tears mixing in with his blood. “Next, I’ll take an eye, you snivelling little shit!” Alessandro growled, raising his bloody blade to the man’s left eyeball. The unmistakable scent of urine filled the air. Alessandro stepped back in disgust and turned to Jason and his other man, Marty, two of the best Dardano soldiers, loyal and efficient. They took his cue and slipped on their brass knuckles. “Just say the words, ol’ boy, and we’ll stop this,” “Fuck you,” the man shouted. Alessandro smirked. “Such defiance for a man who just pissed himself.” He crossed his arms as Marty and Jason went to work. It only took a minute. “All right. Okay! Stop! Stop! Fine, I’ll talk!

When a candidate for public office faces the voters he does not face men of sense; he faces a mob of men whose chief distinguishing mark is the fact that they are quite incapable of weighing ideas, or even of comprehending any save the most elemental — men whose whole thinking is done in terms of emotion, and whose dominant emotion is dread of what they cannot understand. So confronted, the candidate must either bark with the pack or be lost... All the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum. The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.

Bree blinked her tears back and shook her head. “Wow. Then I guess you really are your father’s son, huh?” “You have no idea,” Alessandro snapped before leaving. Part of her wanted to run after him but a stronger part of her knew he wouldn’t listen to anything she had to say while the red haze was still burning inside of him. He wanted a fight. She’d give him one

. . . you worked for Harry King, they said, because a broken leg was bad for business, and Harry King was all about business.

A group experience takes place on a lower level of consciousness than the experience of an individual. This is due to the fact that, when many people gather together to share one common emotion, the total psyche emerging from the group is below the level of the individual psyche. If it is a very large group, the collective psyche will be more like the psyche of an animal, which is the reason why the ethical attitude of large organizations is always doubtful. The psychology of a large crowd inevitably sinks to the level of mob psychology. If, therefore, I have a so-called collective experience as a member of a group, it takes place on a lower level of consciousness than if I had the experience by myself alone.

You will never have to worry about safety. Being a Dardano will buy you all the security you’ll ever need.” Bree shook her head and threw her hands up. “Being a Dardano will put the bulls eye on my back, you asshole,” “Really, darling, once you become Mrs. Dardano, we’re going to have to work on cleaning up that saucy mouth of yours. At least in public,” Alessandro purred, tapping her nose. Bree saw red. But she smiled at him. She took the plate from him and set it down on the vanity table. Then she took the vitamin shake, pulled out the waistband of his pants and poured it down inside.

Misguided good men are more dangerous than honest bad men. It is because they are seen as good that, in and by good conscience, the mob will always, stubbornly back them without question.

The Jewish center on Kings Highway scheduled an interview at the local labor hall downtown for my father to meet one of their counselors in order to asses his skills and capabilities. When my father sat down with the fellow and asked all sorts of questions, his reply was a blank stare. Boris didn't understand a word. He did speak a little English | He knew two words, pipe and chair. So Boris did the smart thing. He kept saying pipe over and over. Whatever question, he simply replied... pipe. The counselor soon got the gist | Boris must be a plumber. He was handed a small slip of paper and was instructed to report to the address penciled on it at 6 am sharp the following day.

He took a step back and stared down at her, and she watched the cold mask slowly slip back over his face. “So…that’s it? You just decide I’m not good enough to be with and-“ “Oh, Alessandro no! You know that’s not-“ “Well, let me tell you something, if you think you’re going to keep me away from my baby-“ “No,” Bree promised. “You can see him anytime you want…at my apartment.” He laughed bitterly and sniffled. “You know something ironic, Brianna? You’re probably the only woman who could have turned me into that man that you deem worthy of your love,” Alessandro walked towards the door and opened it. “Daddy?” a small voice called out. Both Alessandro and Bree turned to Will wearing identically stunned expressions. “Can you stay wif me ‘till I go sleep ‘gain?” Alessandro choked on a sob and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Remember, crowd doesn't care about common sense.

Alessandro! Will!!” He could hear Brianna’s voice a few seconds before his head came up through to the next floor. Stubborn, bloody woman! he cursed. “Oh God, Will!” Bree screamed. “What happened?” She rushed towards them, coughing as she grabbed for her son. He shifted his weight to hand him over to her, but the movement sent another bolt of screaming pain from his ankle up to his leg and Alessandro lost his footing, falling back into the basement. Alessandro!” Bree screamed, and then he heard no more.