If a man is not faithful to his own individuality, he cannot be loyal to anything.
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,/ And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,/ Stealing my breath of life, I will confess/ I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
I know the dark delight of being strange,/ The penalty of difference in the crowd,/ The loneliness of wisdom among fools . . .
Idealism is like a castle in the air if it is not based on a solid foundation of social and political realism.
Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat, but to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines
Nations, like plants and human beings, grow. And if the development is thwarted they are dwarfed and overshadowed.
Deep in the secret chambers of my heart I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch I bear it nobly as I live my part.
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze; But looking at her falsely-smiling face, I knew her self was not in that strange place.
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet, A chafing savage, down the decent street; And passion rends my vitals as I pass, Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
If we must die, O let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!