Inner citadel (n.) has no living room: it promises freedom but leaves you free to do nothing at all.
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Inner citadel (n.) is the only retreat you really need: not a villa by the sea or a cabin in the mountains, but your own reason, which you can enter on a frozen battlefield.
Inner citadel (n.) is a misreading of the Stoics: the soul is just one more parcel of matter in a material world, and fate's rule does not stop at its walls.
Inner citadel (n.) is the border that things cannot cross: the free, ruling part of the soul, where our account of the world is composed.
The Inner citadel (n.) of one's own soul is the best retreat there is, once it has been stocked beforehand with thoughts that bring ease the moment you look in.