Ancestral habits of mind can be constricting; they also confer one's individuality.

My life has gotten a little more complicated than my ability to describe it. That used to be the definition of madness, now it's just continuous overload.

What was the duty of the teacher if not to inspire?

A farmer is dependent on too many things outside his control; it makes for modesty.

Growing up in an old-fashioned Bengali Hindu family and going to a convent school run by stern Irish nuns, I was brought up to revere rules. Without rules, there was only anarchy.

Dullness is a kind of luxury.

What was the function of poetry if not to improve the petty, cautious minds of evasive children?