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Landlords, like all other men, love to reap where they never sowed.
It is not history which uses men as a means of achieving – as if it were an individual person – its own ends. History is nothing but the activity of men in pursuit of their ends.
History does nothing it does not possess immense riches, it does not fight battles. It is men, real, living, who do all this.
The writer may very well serve a movement of history as its mouthpiece, but he cannot of course create it.
The history of all previous societies has been the history of class struggles.
Revolutions are the locomotives of history.
Anyone who knows anything of history knows that great social changes are impossible without feminine upheaval. Social progress can be measured exactly by the social position of the fair sex, the ugly ones included.
History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce.
On a level plain, simple mounds look like hills and the insipid flatness of our present bourgeoisie is to be measured by the altitude of its great intellects.
Greek philosophy seems to have met with something with which a good tragedy is not supposed to meet, namely, a dull ending.