The Proletarians Have Nothing To Loose But

The Writer May Very Well Serve A Movement Of History As Its Mouthpiece, But He Cannot Of Course Create It.

In Every Revolution There Intrude, At The Side Of Its True Agents, Men Of A Different Stamp; Some Of Them Survivors Of And Devotees To Past Revolutions, Without Insight Into The Present Movement, But Preserving Popular Influence By Their Known Honesty And Courage, Or By The Sheer Force Of Tradition; Others Mere Brawlers, Who, By Dint Of Repeating Year After Year The Same Set Of Stereotyped Declamations Against The Government Of The Day, Have Sneaked Into The Reputation Of Revolutionists Of The First Water They Are An Unavoidable Evil: With Time They Are Shaken Off.

Force Is The Midwife Of Every Old Society Pregnant With A New One.

I Am A Machine, Condemned To Devour Them And Then, Throw Them, In A Changed Form, On The Dunghill Of History.

Perseus Wore A Magic Cap That The Monsters He Hunted Down Might Not See Him. We Draw The Magic Cap Down Over Eyes And Ears As A Make-believe That There Are No Monsters.