One Milton and One Milken, I admire to the largest extent which can possibly be. One deliberated, brooded over, nurtured and flourished the story of the Prince of Darkness into the light. While the other, is but the ancient serpent in the flesh.
What kind of street do you think it can be if it was named Wall St.? A street to which people didn’t even bother to give a proper name. In the time of the good graces of Victorian society, they said, with an evening coat and a white-tie, anyone, even a stock-broker, can gain a reputation for being civilized. But with that very Milken, long-enduring conventional wisdom was bathed from inside out. They are not any longer depicted as slaughters inhabiting the neighborhood of a graveyard, but mistaken for Death Knights in the glamorous shining armor.
There is no such thing as a smart business, into which only kids deemed worthy will be absorbed, or in which people are nothing but sophisticated and enlightened. There is simply no such thing, no, but certain human industries with lucrative prospects, given what the environment then could afford, and a whole bunch of lunatic smartass who can’t help hitting the ground going.