Death most resembles a prophet who is without honor in his own land or a poet who is a stranger among his people.

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.

It is slavery to live in the mind unless it has become part of the body

Strange that we all defend our wrongs with more vigor than we do our rights.

And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree.

You are good when you are one with yourself. Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil. For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house. And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the bottom.

Death changes nothing but the mask that covers our faces.