When Dictatorship Is A Fact, Revolution Becomes

Every Idea Must Have A Visible Enfolding.

Our Life Dreams The Utopia. Our Death Achieves The Ideal.

A Shadow Is Hard To Seize By The Throat And Dash To The Ground.

Scepticism, That Dry Caries Of The Intelligence.

The Women Laughed And Wept; The Crowd Stamped Their Feet Enthusiastically, For At That Moment Quasimodo Was Really Beautiful. He Was Handsome — This Orphan, This Foundling, This Outcast.