If you don't know what it is, don't mess with it.
They've done away with those committees. That shows the success of what the Soviets were able to do in this country.
The most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government and I'm here to help.
It is the Soviet Union that runs against the tide of history. . . . [It is] the march of freedom and democracy which will leave Marxism-Leninism on the ash heap of history, as it has left other tyrannies which stifle the freedom and muzzle the self-expression of the people.
You and I are told we must choose between a left or right, but I suggest there is no such thing as a left or right. There is only an up or down. Up to man's age-old dream -- the maximum of individual freedom consistent with order --or down to the ant heap of totalitarianism. Regardless of their sincerity, their humanitarian motives, those who would sacrifice freedom for security have embarked on this downward path.
In an ironic sense, Karl Marx was right. We are witnessing today a great revolutionary crisis, a crisis where the demands of the economic order are conflicting directly with those of the political order. But the crisis is happening not in the. . . West, but in the home of Marxism-Leninism, the Soviet Union. It is the Soviet Union that runs against the tide of history by denying human freedom and human dignity to its citizens.
The future doesn't belong to the light-hearted. It belongs to the brave.
Music is just something that explains people lives for them - that's what people call roots
This fair but pitiless city of Manhattan was without a soul. . . its inhabitants were manikins moved by wires and springs.
During the terrible years of the Yekhov terror I spent seventeen months in the prison queues in Leningrad. One day someone ‘identified’ me. Then a woman with lips blue with cold who was standing behind me, and of course had never heard of my name, came out of the numbness which affected us all and whispered in my ear—(we all spoke in whispers there): ‘Could you describe this?’ I said, ‘I can!’ Then something resembling a smile slipped over what had once been her face.
The lover is moved by the thing loved, as the sense is by that which perceives, and it unites with it and they become one and the same thing. . . when the lover is united with the beloved it finds rest there; when the burden is laid down there it finds rest.