Nothing Is More Tedious Than The Dreaming

It Is A Bad Thing To Perform Menial Duties Even For The Sake Of Freedom; To Fight With Pinpricks, Instead Of With Clubs. I Have Become Tired Of Hypocrisy, Stupidity, Gross Arbitrariness, And Of Our Bowing And Scraping, Dodging, And Hair-splitting Over Words. Consequently, The Government Has Given Me Back My Freedom.

Criticism Has Plucked The Imaginary Flowers On The Chain Not In Order That Man Shall Continue To Bear That Chain Without Fantasy Or Consolation, But So That He Shall Throw Off The Chain And Pluck The Living Flower. The Criticism Of Religion Disillusions Man, So That He Will Think, Act, And Fashion His Reality Like A Man Who Has Discarded His Illusions And Regained His Senses, So That He Will Move Around Himself As His Own True Sun. Religion Is Only The Illusory Sun Which Revolves Around Man As Long As He Does Not Revolve Around Himself.

An Increase In The Productivity Of Labour Means Nothing More Than That The Same Capital Creates The Same Value With Less Labour, Or That Less Labour Creates The Same Product With More Capital.

It Would Perhaps Be As Well If Things Were To Remain Quiet For A Few Years Yet, So That All This 1848 Democracy Has Time To Rot Away.

In Proportion As The Bourgeoisie, I.e., Capital, Is Developed, In The Same Proportion Is The Proletariat, The Modern Working Class, Developed - A Class Of Labourers, Who Live Only So Long As They Find Work, And Who Find Work Only So Long As Their Labour Increases Capital. These Labourers, Who Must Sell Themselves Piecemeal, Are A Commodity, Like Every Other Article Of Commerce, And Are Consequently Exposed To All The Vicissitudes Of Competition, To All The Fluctuations Of The Market.