I give you a favorite scene from Carlyle :
But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Café de Foy, rushing out, sibylline in face ; his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a table : the Police satellites are eyeing him ; alive they shall not take him, not they alive him alive. This time he speaks without stammering :—Friends ! shall we die like hunted hares ? Like sheep hounded into their pinfold ; bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a whetted knife ? The hour is come ; the supreme hour of Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to try conclusions with Oppressed ; and the word is, swift Death, or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be well-come! Us, meseems, one cry only befits : To Arms ! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, sound only : To arms !— "To arms !"
Wishing everyone a fantastic holiday!