And his words enter my heart more distinctly than when they were still alive; and they wound me like blows at once of darkness and of light.
"Men _must_ not open their eyes!" "Faith comes at will, like the rest!" said Adjutant Marcassin, as he fluttered in his red trousers about the ranks, like a blood-stained priest of the God of War.
He was right! He had grasped the chains of bondage when he hurled that true cry against the truth.

Every man is something of account, but ignorance isolates and resignation scatters.

Every poor man carries within him centuries of indifference and servility.

He is a defenseless prey for hatred and dazzlement.
The man of the people whom I am looking for, while I writhe through confusion as through mud, the worker who measures his strength against toil which is greater than he, and who never escapes from hardships, the serf of these days--I see him as if he were here.

He is coming out of his shop at the bottom of the court.