Georg Buchner

We have not made the Revolution, the Revolution has made us.

The death clock is ticking slowly in our breast, and each drop of blood measures its time, and our life is a lingering fever.

The breath of an aristocrat is the death rattle of freedom.

Raise your eyes and count the small gang of your oppressors who are only strong through the blood they suck from you and through your arms which you lend them unwillingly.