The key to understanding any people is in its art: its writing, painting, sculpture.

To exist is to adapt, and if one could not adapt, one died and made room for those who could.

Trail dust is thicker'n blood.

Neither drink [coffee or tea] was known in Frankish lands, but seated in the coffeehouses, I drank of each at various times, twirling my moustache and listening with attention to that headier draught, the wine of the intellect, that sweet and bitter juice distilled from the vine of thought and the tree of man's experience.

Knowledge is awareness, and to it there are many paths, not all of them paved with logic.

A mind, like a home, is furnished by its owner, so if one's life is cold and bare he can blame none but himself. You have a chance to select from pretty elegant furnishings.

He who plants a tree is a servant of God.