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Translated by C.J. Hogarth CONTENTS I THE TUTOR, KARL IVANITCH II MAMA III PAPA IV LESSONS V THE IDIOT VI PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE VII THE HUNT VIII WE PLAY GAMES IX A FIRST ESSAY IN LOVE X THE SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS XI IN THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE STUDY XII GRISHA XIII NATALIA SAVISHNA XIV THE PARTING XV &n... (From : Gutenberg.org.)

Published in 1936. Obtained from the Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace, Stanford, California. Durruti is Dead, Yet LivingEmma Goldman, 1936 Durruti, whom I saw but a month ago, lost his life in the street-battles of Madrid. My previous knowledge of this stormy petrel of the Anarchist and revolutionary movement in Spain was merely from reading about him. On my arrival in Barcelona I learned many fascinating stories of Durruti and his column. They made me eager to go to the Aragon front, where he was the leading spirit of the brave and valiant militias, fighting against fascism. I arrived at Durruti's headquarters towards evening, completely exhausted from the long drive over a rough road. A few moments with Durruti was like a s... (From : WikiSource.)

BOTH of them deaf and close on eighty years old -- She stone-blind, and he nearly so-- Side by side crouching over the fire in a little London hovel--seven shillings a week-- Their joints knotted with rheumatism--their faces all day long mute like statues of all passing expression--(no cloud flying by, no gleam of sunshine there)--lips closed and silent : But for that now and then taking his pipe out of his mouth, He puts his face close to her ear and yells just a word into it, And she nods her blind head and gives a raucous screech in answer. Freedom: A Journal of Anarchist Socialism Vol. 1 -- No. 3, DECEMBER, 1886 Source: http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/anarchist_archives/journals/freedom/freedom1_3.html... (From : AnarchyArchives.)

On the outskirts of a great city, A street of fashionable mansions well withdrawn from all the noise and bustle; And in the street--the only figure there--in the middle of the road, in the bitter wind -- Red-nosed thin-shawled, with ankles bare and old boots-- A woman bent and haggard, croaking a dismal song. And the great windows stare upon her wretchedness, and stare across the road upon each other, With big fool eyes; But not a door is opened, not a face is seen, Nor form of life down all the dreary street, To certify the existence of humanity,-- Other than hers. Freedom: A Journal of Anarchist Socialism Vol. 1 -- No. 1, OCTOBER, 1886 Source: http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/anarchist_archives/journals/freedom/freedom1_1.html... (From : AnarchyArchives.)

Several times that night I woke in terror at the thought that I might be oversleeping myself, and by six o’clock was out of bed, although the dawn was hardly peeping in at the window. I put on my clothes and boots (all of which were lying tumbled and unbrushed beside the bed, since Nicola, of course had not been in yet to tidy them up), and, without a prayer said or my face washed, emerged, for the first time in my life, into the street ALONE. Over the way, behind the green roof of a large building, the dim, cold dawn was beginning to blush red. The keen frost of the spring morning which had stiffened the pools and mud and made them crackle under my feet now nipped my face and hands also. Not a cab was to be seen, though I had counted upon one to make the journey out and home the quicker. Only a file of wagons was rumbling along the Arbat Prospect, and a couple of bricklayers talking noisily together as they strode along the pavement. However, after walking a verst o...