But no value has been put on human life; it is given to us free and taken without being paid for. What is it worth? If you look around, at times the value may seem to be little or nothing at all. Often after you have sweated and tried and things are not better for you, there comes a feeling deep down in the soul that you are not worth much.

Resentment is the most precious flower of poverty.

You don't know what it is to store up a lot of details and then come upon something real.

I see a green tree. And to me it is green. And you would call the tree green also. And we would agree on this. But is the colour you see as green the same colour I see as green?

It was better to be in a jail where you could bang the walls than in a jail you could not see.

But all the time-no matter what she was doing-there was music.

I´m a stranger in a strange land.