For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks." Thus I became a madman.

Much of your pain is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Often times I have hated in self-defense; if I were stronger I would not have used such a weapon.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed tomorrow by the multitude. What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by thousands of hearts.

Perhaps time’s definition of coal is the diamond.

In the depth of my soul there is a wordless song.

Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.