Only Those Who Hate The

Peoples Are Made Of Hate And Of Love, And More Of Hate Than Love.

Terrible Times In Which Priests No Longer Merit The Praise Of Poets And In Which Poets Have Not Yet Begun To Be Priests.

To Busy Oneself With What Is Futile When One Can Do Something Useful, To Attend To What Is Simple When One Has The Mettle To Attempt What Is Difficult, Is To Strip Talent Of Its Dignity.

We Are Free, But Not To Be Evil, Not To Be Indifferent To Human Suffering, Not To Profit From The People, From The Work Created And Sustained Through Their Spirit Of Political Association, While Refusing To Contribute To The Political State That We Profit From.

Like Bones To The Human Body, The Axle To The Wheel, The Wing To The Bird, And The Air To The Wing, So Is Liberty The Essence Of Life. Whatever Is Done Without It Is Imperfect.