the well written - ayn rand

Stand here, he thought, and count the lighted windows of a city. You
cannot do it. But behind each yellow rectangle that climbs, one over
another, to the sky - under each bulb - down to there, see that spark over
the river which is not a star? - there are people whom you will never see
and who are your masters. At the supper tables, in the drawing rooms,
in their beds and in their cellars, in their studies and in their bathrooms.
Speeding in the subways under your feet. Crawling up in elevators
through vertical cracks around you. Jolting past you in every bus. Your
masters, Gail Wynand. There is a net - longer than the cables that coil
through the walls of this city, larger than the mesh of pipes that carry
water, gas and refuse - there is another hidden net around you; it is
strapped to you, and the wires lead to every hand in the city. They jerked
the wires and you moved. You were a ruler of men. You held a leash. A
leash is only a rope with a noose at both ends.

- Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

By Allison Torneros