The traditions of the dead generations weigh like a nightmare upon the living.

In bourgeois society capital is independent and has individuality, while the living person is dependent and has no individuality.

Capital is dead labor, which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labor, and lives the more, the more labor it sucks.

History does nothing; it does not possess immense riches, it does not fight battles. It is men, real, living, who do all this.

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.

The living generation is bound to support them, as it would an aged and slightly zany parent.