So eager are our people to obliterate the present.

Always first draw fresh breath after outbursts of vanity and complacency.

They're talking about things of which they don't have the slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves.

Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.

In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.

But questions that don’t answer themselves at the very moment of their asking are never answered.

Anything that has real and lasting value is always a gift from within.