“I’ve just learned from the history of the past few years, and looking farther back, from history as a whole, that one should not overestimate the impact or effect that one individual can have. Fundamentally the powerful, unseen, plutonic forces in the depths are at work, and they are decisive, and in the end everything straightens itself out, so to speak, “of its own accord.” Don’t get me wrong. I’m not pronouncing my word in favor of a cheap, fatalistic optimism, which only seeks to veil its impotence, the kind of outlook that, precisely in the case of your esteemed spouse [Karl Kautsky], is so hateful to me. No, no, l am ready at my post at all times and at the first opportunity will begin striking the keys of World History’s piano with all ten fingers so that it will really boom. But since right now I happen to be “on leave” from World History, not through any fault of my own but because of external compulsion, I just laugh to myself and rejoice that things are moving ahead without me, and I believe with rock-hard certainty that all will go well. History always knows how to manage for the best even when it seems to have run into a blind alley of the most hopeless kind.
Dearest, when one has the bad habit of looking for a drop of poison in any blossom, one finds good reason, as long as one lives, to be moaning and groaning. If you take the opposite approach, and look for the honey in every blossom, then you’ll always find reason to be cheerful. Besides, believe me, the time that I—and others as well—spend behind bars, under lock and key, will not be in vain. In the great overall settling of accounts this too will somehow prove to be of value. I am of the opinion that one should, without trying to be too crafty or racking one’s brains too much, simply live the way one feels is right and not always expect to be repaid immediately with cash in hand. Everything will come out right in the end. And if not—to me it’s all the same. I say “oh well”; either way, l am enjoying life so much, every morning I thoroughly inspect the condition of the buds on all my bushes, and every day I visit a little red ladybug with two black spots on its back, which in spite of the wind and the cold, I have been keeping alive for a week on a little bough warmly surrounded by cotton wool, and I observe the clouds, how they are constantly being renewed and becoming ever more beautiful, and—on the whole I feel that I am no more important than the ladybug and I am inexpressibly happy with this sense of my insignificance.”
— Rosa Luxemburg (letter from prison, April 15, 1917)