“Not knowing anything is the sweetest life.”

The truth is what I cherish and that’s my strength.

Wealth makes an ugly person beautiful to look on and an incoherent speech eloquent; and wealth alone can enjoy pleasure even in sickness and can conceal its miseries.

Remember there is no success without hard work.

How terrible is wisdom, when it brings no profit to the man that’s wise.

Knowledge must come through action. You can have no test which is not fanciful, save by trial.

The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.

Whoever lives among many evils just as I, how can dying not be a source of gain?

I recommend bread, meat, vegetables, and beer.

The oaths of a woman I inscribe on water.

A mind at peace does not engender wars.

It is a base thing for a man among the people not to obey those in command. Never in a state can the laws be well administered when fear does not stand firm.

Nobody likes the bringer of bad news.

Our happiness depends on wisdom all the way.

I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect.

Time, which sees all things, has found you out.

Do nothing secretly; for Time sees and hears all things, and discloses all.

My children, the secret of religion lies not in theories but in practice.

Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.

Do not dispute with anyone in any matter as far as possible. For in argumentation lies much harm and its evil is greater than its benefit.

Ask no questions and you’ll hear no lies.

There’s a rebel lying deep in my soul. Anytime anybody tells me the trend is such and such, I go the opposite direction. I hate the idea of trends. I hate imitation; I have a reverence for individuality.

Declare your jihad on thirteen enemies you cannot see – Egoism, Arrogance, Conceit, Selfishness, Greed, Lust, Intolerance, Anger, Lying, Cheating, Gossiping and Slandering. If you can master and destroy them, then will be ready to fight the enemy you can see.

There’s a rebel lying deep in my soul.

The Kafka paradox: art depends on truth, but truth, being indivisable, cannot know itself: to tell the truth is to lie. Thus the writer is the truth, and yet when he speaks he lies.