He who does not prefer exile to slavery is not free by any measure of freedom, truth and duty.

If you sing of beauty though alone in the heart of the desert you will have an audience.

Know, therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return... Forget not that I shall come back to you... A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.

Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking. Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpetings, and farewells him with hootings, only to welcome another ruler with trumpetings again. Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strong men are yet in the cradle. Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

Love is quivering happiness.

The teacher gives not of his wisdom, but rather of his faith and lovingness.