Nietzsche on his Balcony

"Get back to work," Ghibelline said without emphasis but in a categorical way. "Vacation's over.

No more hair where there shouldn't be any. Now you look like you used to, you bastard. What did you think? That the revolution was going to save you-how did you put it? -to free you? That the past would never return? That you were going to retire, you piece of shit? That you were going to grow old in peace? You can't, you idiot. God or nature or both gave you two sexes, or one imperfect sex, my Dorian, what do I know, I only know that you unsettle, that you disturb. You fucker, everyone except me, your manager, your pimp if you like, and I can throw you out on the street if I like, what do you think? The street, remember? When you escaped from your home, far from Elisa's mother, and the first thing that happened to you was that they arrested you and I got you out of jail and I told you, you are free, Dorian, but the money is mine, everything you earn is for me, in exchange I'll give you a room to live in and your records of German dwarves. How I saved you, you poor wretch. Haven't you had enough of the street? Do you think I don't know what happened? Do you think I didn't follow you when you wanted to be a nude dancer in a cabaret and you failed? Dorian, you ain't got an ass, you know? The audience wants to see ass and you ain't got any, the audience wants tits and yours are tiny, what do you got, Dorian?