My father, when he went, made my childhood a gift of a half a century.

Man, when he is merely what he seems to be, is almost nothing.

My bits of time play with eternity.

The shadows: some hide, others reveal.

When your suffering is a little greater than my suffering I feel that I am a little cruel.

That in man which cannot be domesticated is not his evil but his goodness.

I have been my own disciple and my own master. And I have been a good disciple but a bad master.