If I am mad, then who on the face of the earth is sane? If you are sane, then there is no madman in the world.

When a man becomes old, his greed becomes young: sleep grows heavy at the time of morning.

To the seeker after pearls, silence is a speaking argument, for no breath comes forth from the diver of the sea.

In this market every head has a different fancy: everyone winds his turban in a different fashion.

Peace is in proportion to every pause: observe the difference between to run, to walk, to stand, to sit, to lie, to die.

The life of this transitory world is the expectation of death: to renounce life is to escape from the expectation of annihilation.

When poison becomes a habit, it ceases to injure: make your soul gradually acquainted with death.