Whoever finishes a revolution only halfway, digs his own grave.
Peace to the shacks! War on the palaces!
The stars are scattered all over the sky like shimmering tears, there must be great pain in the eye from which they trickled.
That is a long word: forever!
The statue of Freedom has not been cast yet, the furnace is hot, we can all still burn our fingers.
How many women does one need to sing the scale of love all the way up and down?