To keep our faces toward chance and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.

Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived. The odors of fruits waft me to my southern home, to my childhood frolics in the peach orchard. Other odors, instantaneous and fleeting, cause my heart to dilate joyously or contract with remembered grief. Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening fields far away.

I grow more and more suspicious of the political powers that take men away from their work and set them shooting one another.

One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.

I prefer to stroll which has a buddy at nighttime, than by itself inside the light.

The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when I consider the immeasurable contrasts between the two lives which it connects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old.

History is a record of the incessant struggle of humanity against ignorance and oppression.