Alexander Berkman,
Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist…
(1912)
“ They seem human in their cruel immobility. Their huge arms tower into the night, as if to crush me on the instant. I feel so small, unutterably weak and defenseless amid all the loneliness,-the breath of the grave is on my face, it draws closer, it surrounds me, and shuts the last rays from my sight. ”
