"I have a plan," Wilbur announced after dinner one day.
"It is not. It's a great idea and you're just mad you didn't come up with it first, you dumb fucking, uuuugh, this is like, fucking, Van Gogh or some shit, greatness is never recognized in its own time, except by me, because I am great. That is why I am so good at recognizing it."
"You can't get rid of people coming together in groups, doing something for a purpose. That's, that's where anarchy fails. It's not that there's something wrong with the idea, it's the--the exclusivity. It's like the scholomance, right? The purpose isn't bad. To offer sanctuary and protection to all the wise-gifted children of the world. That's noble! That's--that's a noble ideal! The problem isn't with the idea, the problem is that it isn't actually open to all the wise-gifted children of the world, right, it's only open to the privileged ones and then some extras as cannon fodder. But the solution isn't to get rid of the scholomance, that's dumb, everyone would just die more."
"No, because I will just make the tools like me more, and then they will be my tools and I will dismantle so many houses with them and they will call me the dismanteler. What does that even mean, dismantle. Are houses normally mantled. I do not think I have ever mantled a house."
"Okay but, like, you don't actually have an alternative, you're just--dismissing the entire idea of progress if it's not radical enough for you. I have a plan for how to make things better, for everyone, not just enclavers, and you're not--you're not even listening to me."