Georg Buchner

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.

Revolution is like Saturn, it devours its own children.

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

Under each formula lies a corpse.

After ten years of word processing, I can't even do hand writing anymore.

I seem to smell the stench of appeasement in the air.