Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.
Every revolutionary ends up either by becoming an oppressor or a heretic.
In the past, the poverty they shared had a certain sweetness about it. When the end of the day came and they would eat their dinner in silence with the oil lamp between them, there was a secret joy in such simplicity, such retrenchment.
Some are created to love, while the others - to live.
Stupidity has a knack of getting its way.
The society based on production is only productive, not creative.