The death clock is ticking slowly in our breast, and each drop of blood measures its time, and our life is a lingering fever.

A clock does not care how we spend our time, it simply does it's job and continues ticking.

One must love humanity in order to reach out into the unique essence of each individual: no one can be too low or too ugly.

The breath of an aristocrat is the death rattle of freedom.

Raise your eyes and count the small gang of your oppressors who are only strong through the blood they suck from you and through your arms which you lend them unwillingly.

Life is a predicament which precedes death.