Pain Is As Diverse As Man. One

Revolutions Are Not Born Of Chance But Of Necessity.

Promise To Give Me A Kiss On My Brow When I Am Dead.--i Shall Feel It.

Success Is A Very Hideous Thing. Its False Resemblance To Merit Deceives Men.

Such Is The Remorseless Progression Of Human Society, Shedding Lives And Souls As It Goes On Its Way. It Is An Ocean Into Which Men Sink Who Have Been Cast Out By The Law And Consigned, With Help Most Cruelly Withheld, To Moral Death. The Sea Is The Pitiless Social Darkness Into Which The Penal System Casts Those It Has Condemned, An Unfathomable Waste Of Misery. The Human Soul, Lost In Those Depths, May Become A Corpse. Who Shall Revive It?

On This Point, The Priest And The Philosopher Agree: We Must Die.