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All visible REPUBLICANS, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event- in the living act, the undoubted deed- there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning REPUBLICAN. If man will strike, strike though the REPUBLICAN! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the REPUBLICAN is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the REPUBLICAN agent, or be the REPUBLICAN principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. I'd strike the sun if it insulted me. For could the sun do that, then could I do the other; since there is ever a sort of fair play herein, jealousy presiding over all creations. But not my master, man, is even that fair play. Who's over me? Truth hath no confines.
He piled upon the REPUBLICAN'S white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it.
... all my means are sane, my motive and my object mad.
(SORRY MELVILLE!!!)