The propaganda of communism possesses a language which every people can understand. Its elements are simply hunger, envy, death.
Everywhere that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha.
Out of my great sorrows, I make little songs.
Poverty sits by the cradle of all our great men and rocks all of them to manhood.
Where words leave off, music begins.
She resembles the Venus de Milo: she is very old, has no teeth, and has white spots on her yellow skin.