Joy Is The Reflex Of Terror.

Memory Is A Gulf That A Word Can Move To Its Lowest Depths.

He Who Opens A School Door, Closes A Prison.

The Saints Were His Friends, And Blessed Him; The Monsters Were His Friends, And Guarded Him.

To Rise From Error To Truth Is Rare And Beautiful.

M. Mabeuf’s Political Opinion Was A Passionate Fondness For Plants, And A Still Greater One For Books. He Had, Like Everybody Else, His Termination In Ist, Without Which Nobody Could Have Lived In Those Times, But He Was Neither A Royalist, Nor A Bonapartist, Nor A Chartist, Nor An Orleanist, Nor An Anarchist; He Was An Old-bookist.