The Burgeoisie, By The Rapid Improvement Of

He Who Before Was The Money Owner, Now Strides In Front As Capitalist; The Possessor Of Labor-power Follows As His Laborer. The One With An Air Of Importance, Smirking, Intent On Business; The Other Hesitant, Like One Who Is Bringing His Own Hide To Market And Has Nothing To Expect But A Hiding.

All Freed, Fast-frozen Relations, With Their Train Of Ancient And Venerable Prejudices And Opinions, Are Swept Away, All New-formed Ones Become Antiquated Before They Can Ossify. All That Is Solid Melts Into Air, All That Is Holy Is Profaned, And Man Is At Last Compelled To Face With Sober Senses, His Real Conditions Of Life, And His Relations With His Kind.

The Working Men Have No Country. We Cannot Take Away From Them What They Have Not Got

The Writer May Very Well Serve A Movement Of History As Its Mouthpiece, But He Cannot Of Course Create It.

Religion Is The Sigh Of The Oppressed Creature, The Heart Of A Heartless World, And The Soul Of Soulless Conditions. It Is The Opium Of The People.