This is the year 1492. I am eighty-two years of age. The things I am going to tell you are things which I saw myself as a child and as a youth.

A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.

In early times some sufferer had to sit up with a toothache, and he put in the time inventing the German language.

I am dead to adverbs; they cannot excite me. To misplace an adverb is a thing which I am able to do with frozen indifference; it can never give me a pang. There are subtleties which I cannot master at all - they confuse me, they mean absolutely nothing to me - and this adverb plague is one of them.

Focus more on your desire than on your doubt, and the dream will take care of itself.

Perhaps it will be simplest to throw away the tags and generalize India with one all-comprehensive name, as the Land of Wonders.

Truth is neither alive nor dead; it just aggravates itself all the time.