People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.

Those whose kernels were cracked by benevolent spirit should not forget to be humble.

Poetry and slave trading cannot be bedfellows. That's where I stand.

When there is a big tree small ones climb on its back to reach the sun.

Unoka went into an inner room and soon returned with a small wooden disc containing a kola nut, some alligator pepper and a lump of white chalk. "I have kola," he announced when he sat down, and passed the disc over to his guest. "Thank you. He who brings kola brings life. But I think you ought to break it," replied Okoye passing back the disc. "No, it is for you, I think," and they argued like this for a few moments before Unoka accepted the honor of breaking the kola. Okoye, meanwhile, took the lump of chalk, drew some lines on the floor, and then painted his big toe.

I do not think that there is any time in our history when things were perfect. I do not expect such times in the near future either. But I think every generation has to examine what needs to be done, what belongs to its peace and proceed. And so what needs to be done will change with time depending on the conditions, whatever the conditions happen to be. And they will not be the same for generation after generation.

The man that brings ant-infested faggots into his hut should not grumble when lizards begin to pay him a visit.