Cultivo una rosa blanca, En julio como en enero, Para el amigo sincero Que me da su mano franca. Y para el cruel que me arranca El corazon con que vivo, Cardo ni oruga cultivo Cultivo una rosa blanca. I have a white rose to tend In July as in January; I give it to the true friend Who offers his frank hand to me. And to the cruel one whose blows Break the heart by which I live, Thistle nor thorn do I give: For him, too, I have a white rose.

The dagger plunged in the name of freedom is plunged into the breast of freedom.

Peoples are made of hate and of love, and more of hate than love.

It is a sin not to do what one is capable of doing.

The vote is a trust more delicate than any other, for it involves not just the interests of the voter, but his life, honor and future as well.

I know that when the world surrenders, pallid, to repose, the murmur of a tranquil stream through the deep silence flows.

But love, like the sun that it is, sets afire and melts everything. what greed and privilege to build up over whole centuries the indignation of a pious spirit, with its natural following of oppressed souls, will cast down with a single shove.