At its starting point in India, the birthplace of races and religions, the womb of the world.

Every epoch dreams its successor.

The real, in all this efforts, is that we climb just for climbing.

The indifference of men, far more than their tyranny, is the torment of women.

Improvement depends far less upon length of tasks and hours of application than is supposed. Children can take in but a little each day; they are like vases with a narrow neck; you may pour little or pour much, but much will not enter at a time.

Each year, it is necessary to respire, to take breath again, to revive ourselves at the great living sources that forever keep their eternal freshness. Where can we find them if not at the cradle of our race, on the sacred summits from where descend the Indus and the Ganges....?

He who would confine his thought to present time will not understand present reality.