“I’ve always been a reserved cat. When I play sports, there’s people used to get mad at me because I didn’t hang out and things like that. I’ve never been that kind of person. Nothing has changed in that regard. I’ve never been posse, and all that. I’m a quiet storm.”

Even the severed branch grows again, and the sunken moon returns: wise men who ponder this are not troubled in adversity.

Neither rings, bright chains, nor bracelets, perfumes, flowers, nor well-trimmed hair, Grace a man like polished language, th’ only jewel he should wear.

The moth unwitting rushes on the fire, Through ignorance the fish devours the bait, We men know well the foes that lie in wait, Yet cannot shun the meshes of desire.

The source of inward happiness which shall outlast the earth– To them e’en kings should yield the palm, and own their higher worth.

Trees bend low with ripened fruit; clouds hang down with gentle rain; noble people bow graciously. This is the way of generous things.

Our life is like th’ unstable wave, Our bloom of youth decays. Our joys are brief as lightning flash In summer’s cloudy days, Our riches fleet as swift as thought; Faith in the One Supreme Alone will bear us o’er the gulfs Of Being’s stormy stream.

I’ve wandered over many lands, and reaped withal no fruit, I’ve laid my pride of rank aside, and pressed my baffled suit, At stranger boards, like shameless crow, I’ve eaten bitter bread, But fierce Desire, that raging fire, still clamours to be fed.

A good man may fall, but he falls like a ball [and rebounds]; the ignoble man falls like a lump of clay.

Those from whom we were born have long since departed, and those with whom we grew up exist only in memory. We, too, through the approach of death, become, as it were, trees growing on the sandy bank of a river.

Let us keep a firm grip upon our money, for without it the whole assembly of virtues are but as blades of grass.

I have not wasted life, but life hath wasted me.

Knowledge is wonderful and truth serene But man in their service bleeds.

Trees loaded with fruit are bent down; the clouds when charged with fresh rain hang down near the earth: even so good men are not uplifted through prosperity. Such is the natural character of the liberal.

Man is but a beast without it: such a glorious god is Learning.

What is the most profitable? Fellowship with the good. What is the worst thing in the world? The society of evil men. What is the greatest loss? Failure in ones duty.

The constant man loses not his virtue in misfortune. A torch may point towards the ground, but its flame will still point upwards.