The strides of humanity are slow, they can only be counted in centuries.

People like us are unhappy in this world and in the next, I guess if we made it to heaven, we'd have to help make it thunder.

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

The statue of Freedom has not been cast yet, the furnace is hot, we can all still burn our fingers.

The stars are scattered all over the sky like shimmering tears, there must be great pain in the eye from which they trickled.

The strides of humanity are slow, they can only be counted in centuries.

Germany is now a field of cadavers, soon she will be a paradise.