The worker must have bread, but she must have roses, too. Help, you women of privilege, give her the ballot to fight with.

Surely these women won't lose any more of their beauty and charm by putting a ballot in a ballot box once a year than they are likely to lose standing in foundries or laundries all year round. There is no harder contest than the contest for bread, let me tell you that.

You have nothing that the humblest worker has not a right to have also.

I can't talk fellowship to you who are gathered here. Too much blood has been spilled. I know from my experience it is up to the working people to save themselves. The only way they can save themselves is by a strong working-class movement.

I wish I might a rose-bud grow And thou wouldst cull me from the bower. To place me on that breast of snow Where I should bloom a wintry flower.

Till the rose's lips grow pale With her sighs.