Music is the language of the spirit. It opens the secret of life bringing peace, abolishing strife.

I am bored with gabbers and their gab; my soul abhors them. . . . Is there any place where there is no traffic in empty talk? Is there on this earth one who does not worship himself talking?

The truly great man is he who would master no one, and who would be mastered by none.

I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet, strange, I am ungrateful to those teachers.

Then it is also in my heart to be worthy of your hate.

Wit is often a mask. If you tear it you will find either genius irritated or cleverness juggling.

Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness.