Injustice boils in men's hearts as does steel in its cauldron, ready to pour forth, white hot, in the fullness of time.

I am not afraid of the pen, or the scaffold, or the sword. I will tell the truth wherever I please.

The employment of children is doing more to fill prisons, insane asylums, almshouses, reformatories, slums, and gin shops than all the efforts of reformers are doing to improve society.

All the average human being asks is something he can call a home; a family that is fed and warm; and now and then a little happiness; once in a long while an extravagance.

I'm not afraid of the press or the Militia.

I am not blind to the shortcomings of our own people. I am not unaware that leaders betray, and sell out, and play false. But this knowledge does not outweigh the fact that my class, the working class, is exploited, driven, fought back with the weapon of starvation, with guns and with venal courts whenever they strike for conditions more human, more civilized for their children, and for their children's children.

You ought to be out raising hell. This is the fighting age. Put on your fighting clothes.