"Like the Nemesis of old, whom neither prayers nor threats could move, the revolution advances, with sombre and inevitable tread over the flowers with which its devotees strew its path, through the blood of its champions, and over the bodies of its enemies."
If you want to be happy,
Hang your landlord
Cut the parson's throat,
Wreck the churches
From "Pere Duchesne" sung by Ravachol at his execution