I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

You want to put across the best possible impression to your customers? So do I. You want to do a good job with every customer – no matter how much they’ve paid? So do I. You want people to respect you? So do I. Respect – even for what you’re not? No, not I.

Yet – somehow I need to be a martyr in this process. Yet – I need to be the person who makes the sour trade, who has no human rights or who deserves no respect or acknowledgement. Or anything at all.

I get it.

I need to temper down this rage inside me… the rage at the sheer injustice. I just don’t know how.