My lungs taste the air of Time,Blown past falling sands.

I hear the wind blowing across the desert and I see the moons of a winter night rising like great ships in the void. To them I make my vow: I will be resolute and make an art of government; I will balance my inherited past and become a perfect storehouse of my relic memories. And I will be known for kindliness more than for knowledge. My face will shine down the corridors of time for as long as humans exist.

Humans are almost always lonely.

Always prepare secondary ways of dealing with problems.

Argument closes off the doors of the senses. It always masks violence. Continued too long, argument always leads to violence.

If enough of us believe, a new thing can be made to exist. Belief structure creates a filter through which chaos is sifted into order.

Governments, if they endure, always tend increasingly toward aristocratic forms. No government in history has been known to evade this pattern. And as the aristocracy develops, government tends more and more to act exclusively in the interests of the ruling class -- whether that class be hereditary royalty, oligarchs of financial empires, or entrenched bureaucracy.