The revolution is like a vessel filled with the pulsating heartbeat of millions of working people.
Most people have no imagination. If they could imagine the sufferings of others, they would not make them suffer so. What separated a German mother from a French mother?
How happy I am to go to the front at last. To do my bit. To prove with my life what I think I feel.
Gradually I became aware of details: a company of French soldiers was marching through the streets of the town. They broke formation, and went in single file along the communication trench leading to the front line. Another group followed them.
Each had defended his own country; the Germans Germany, the Frenchmen France; they had done their duty.
And the spirit of revolution will not die while the hearts of these workers continue to beat.