In the morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal philosophy of the Bhagavad-Gita, in comparison with which our modern world and its literature seems puny and trivial.

While the Governor, and the Mayor, and countless officers of the Commonwealth are at large, the champions of liberty are imprisoned.

Everything counts for gain when we are cosmically awake. Nothing counts, unless we are awake. No enjoyments last, no successes satisfy, no gains have meaning unless accomplished in a state of wakefulness.

We have not so good a right to hate any as our Friend.

Keep up the fires of thought, and all will go well.

Thus men will lie on their backs, talking about the fall of man, and never make an effort to get up.

One piece of good sense would be more memorable than a monument as high as the moon.