“We mortals are composed of two great schools Enlightened knaves or else religious fools.”

The world holds two classes of men; intelligent men without religion, and religious men without intelligence.

They recite their sacred books, although the fact informs me that these are a fiction from first to last.

O fools, awake! The rites ye sacred hold Are but a cheat contrived by men of old Who lusted after wealth and gained their lust And died in baseness-and their law is dust.

O Reason, thou (alone) speakest the truth. Then perish the fools who forged the (religious) traditions or interpreted them!

The inhabitants of the earth are of two sorts.

There are two kinds of humans – the intelligent, who have no religion, and the religious, who have no intellect.

For their race brings not harm upon thee in any wise, when thou fearest it from thine own race.

And a perpetual loss I feel if, knowing, I believe a falsehood or deny the truth.

Those with brains, but no religion, And those with religion, but no brains.

Hanifs (Muslims) are stumbling, Christians all astray Jews wildered, Magians far on error’s way.

Give a drink of water as alms to the birds which go forth at morning, and deem that they have a better right than men [to thy charity].

Reason forbade me many things which, Instinctively, my nature was attracted to;

A little doubt is better than total credulity.

They all err – Muslims, Christians, Jews and Magians.

When composing a verse let there not be a hair’s breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.

A composer’s job involves the decoration of fragments of time.

For it is the duty of an astronomer to compose the history of the celestial motions through careful and expert study.

Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.

We need a daily paper edited and composed according to woman’s own thoughts, and not as woman thinks a man wants her to think and write.

Our lives are composed of a finite set of moments that we choose how to spend.

Poetry puts starch in your backbone so you can stand, so you can compose your life.

A galaxy is composed of gas and dust and stars – billions upon billions of stars. Every star may be a sun to someone.