With disdain I will throw my gauntlet full in the fact of the world and see the collapse of this pygmy giant. Then will I wander god-like and victorious through the ruins of the world. And giving my words an active force, I will feel equal to the Creator.

Capital is money, capital is commodities. By virtue of it being value, it has acquired the occult ability to add value to itself. It brings forth living offspring, or, at the least, lays golden eggs.

As, in religion, man is governed by the products of his own brain, so in capitalistic production, he is governed by the products of his own hand.

Greek philosophy seems to have met with something with which a good tragedy is not supposed to meet, namely, a dull ending.

Men make their own history but not in circumstances of their own choosing.

The more of himself man attributes to God, the less he has left in himself.

There is one great fact, characteristic of this our nineteenth century, a fact which no party dares deny. On the one hand, there have started into life industrial and scientific forces which no epoch of former human history had ever suspected. On the other hand, there exist symptoms of decay, far surpassing the horrors recorded of the latter times of the Roman empire. In our days everything seems pregnant with its contrary.