“A house without books is a poor house, even if beautiful rugs are covering its floors and precious wallpapers and pictures cover its walls”

Happiness is a how; not a what. A talent, not an object.

A magic dwells in each beginning, protecting us, telling us how to live.

Only within yourself exists that other reality for which you long.

No permanence is ours, we are a wave that flows to fit whatever form it finds.

I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.

There is no reality except the one contained within us.

I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than to take the path that leads to himself.

Solitude is independence.

When you like someone, you like them in spite of their faults. When you love someone, you love them with their faults.

Your soul is the whole world.

Age is a state of mind. Youth and age exist only among the ordinary people. All the more talented and exceptional of us; are sometimes old, just as we are sometimes happy, and sometimes sad.

Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.

Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal.

Theory is knowledge that doesn’t work. Practice is when everything works and you don’t know why.

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.

Not in his speech, not in his thoughts, I see his greatness, only in his actions, in his life.