When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: "Why?" He replied: "Because no one admired me.

Half of tradition is a lie.

He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare; the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the Question.

Perhaps an individual must consider his own death to be the final phenomenon of nature.

It perhaps might be said--if any one dared--that the most worthless literature of the world has been that which has been written by the men of one nation concerning the men of another.

A learned man came to me once. He said, "I know the way, -- come." And I was overjoyed at this. Together we hastened. Soon, too soon, were we Where my eyes were useless, And I knew not the ways of my feet. I clung to the hand of my friend; But at last he cried, "I am lost.

Sometimes, the most profound of awakenings come wrapped in the quietest of moments.