Life comes to the miners out of their deaths, and death out of their lives

Slowly those who create the wealth of the world are permitted to share it. The future is in labor's strong, rough hands.

I am not blind to the shortcomings of our own people.

But in Shimabukuro's hands, as he breaks out experimental jazz, lays down a steady blues train, or shreds on rock anthems, this little jumping flea becomes a melodic monster.

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

I'm not a lady, I'm a hellraiser

Freedom for the working class!