Happiness is not the portion of man.
It is love; love, the comfort of the human species, the preserver of the universe, the soul of all sentient beings, love, tender love.
Anything too stupid to be said is sung.
This is no time to make new enemies.
Man can have only a certain number of teeth, hair and ideas; there comes a time when he necessarily loses his teeth, hair and ideas.
What! Have you no monks to teach, to dispute, to govern, to intrigue and to burn people who do not agree with them?