Alexander Berkman

“ Possibly the letter fell under the bed, or in that dark corner. No, none there,-but it can't be that there is no mail for me to-day! I must look again-it may have dropped among the blankets.... No, there is no letter!
Thus pass my days, dear friend. In thought I am ever with you and Fedya, in our old haunts and surroundings. I shall never get used to this life, nor find an interest in the reality of the moment. What will become of me, I don't know. I hardly care. We are revolutionists, dear: whatever sacrifices the Cause demands, though the individual perish, humanity will profit in the end. ”

“ Oh! if he does not come to my cell quickly, he may have no letters left. But the next moment I smile at the childish thought,-if there is a letter for me, no other prisoner will get it. Yet some error might happen.... No, it is impossible-my name and prison number, and the cell number marked by the Chaplain across the envelope, all insure the mail against any mistake in delivery. Now the dinner whistle blows. Eagerly I hasten to the cell. There is nothing on the floor! Perhaps on the bed, on the table.... I grow feverish with the dread of disappointment. ”

“ To grasp your hand, to look down for a mute, immortal instant into your soul, and then die at your hands, Beloved, with the warm breath of your caress wafting me into peaceful eternity-oh, it were bliss supreme, the realization of our day dreams, when, in transports of ecstasy, we kissed the image of the Social Revolution. ”