And Thou Too The Hurricane At the Grave in Waldheim Ut Sementem Feceris, Ita Metes The Dirge of the Sea I Am Love’s Ghost Life or Death The Toast of Despair Mary Wollstone Craft John P. Altgeld In Memoriam The Feast of Vultures The Suicide’s Defense Germinal Santa Agueda The Road Builders Ave Et Vale Marsh-Bloom “Light Upon Waldheim” Written — in — Red And Thou Too... (From : TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
Some time ago, in one of my essays in "Record of Random Thoughts," I recorded a conversation I had had with a friend. I declared that a museum of the "Cultural Revolution" should be established. I did not have anything specific in mind, no formal project, but I was driven by a strong conviction that such a museum should be found, and it was the responsibility of every Chinese. I had just mentioned this, anticipating that others would add their support. I believe that the many who passed through the crucible of the "Cultural Revolution" could not remain silent. Each individual had a unique experience. But nobody can depict the "cowshed" prison as a paradise, nor depict inhuman massacre as a "Great Proletarian Revolution." Although our opinio... (From : CND.org.)
"My God! my God!" was Nekhliudof's mental exclamation, as with long strides he hastened home through the shady alleys of his weed-grown garden, and, absent-mindedly, snapped off the leaves and branches which fell in his way. "Is it possible that my dreams about the ends and duties of my life are all idle nonsense? Why is it hard for me, and mournful, as though I were dissatisfied with myself because I imagined that having once begun this course I should constantly experience the fullness of the morally pleasant feeling which I had when, for the first time, these thoughts came to me?" And with extraordinary vividness and distinctness he saw in his imagination that happy moment which he had experienced a year before. He had arisen very early, before every one else in the house, and feeling painfully those secret, indescribable impulses of youth, he had gone aimlessly out into the garden, and from there into the woods; and, amid the energetic but tranquil natu...
During my ninety days in the United States old friends and new, including people I had never met before, spoke much of my years in exile. It seemed incredible to them that I had been able to withstand the vicissitudes of banishment and come back unbroken in health and spirit and with my ideal unmarred. I confess I was deeply moved by their generous tribute. But also I was embarrassed, not because I suffer from false modesty or believe that kind things should be said about people only after their death, but rather because the plight of hosts of political exiles scattered over Europe is so tragic that my struggle to survive was hardly worth mentioning. The lot of political refugees, even prior to the war, was never free from stress and povert... (From : University of Berkeley.)