Where roads are made I lose my way.In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track.The pathway is hidden by the birds' wings, by the star-fires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons.And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way.

The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy.

A lamp can only light another lamp when it continues to burn in its own flame.

Men are cruel, but Man is kind.

The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.

The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom, and yet keep it for himself.