The savior who wants to turn men into angels is as much a hater of human nature as the totalitarian despot who wants to turn them into puppets.
He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.
Power! Did you ever hear of men being asked whether other souls should have power or not? It is born in them.
It is the nature of the artist to mind excessively what is said about him. Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Politicians are easy to attack, but frankly, we are all guilty of not meeting the needs of Africa's young people properly.
Evil is only imperfection, that which is not complete, which is becoming, but has not yet found its end.
There is much, of course, in the exclusive claims of Christianity which make it hostile to other faiths.
The Buddha over and over again spoke clearly and definitely on post-mortem states - as in his conversation with Vasetta.
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge,fitter to bruise than polish." [ ]
This only grant me, that my means may lie too low for envy, for contempt too high.
For things to have value in man's world, they are given the role of commodities. Among man's oldest and most constant commodity is woman.
I'm concerned about a lot of serious border issues. This book is about the border reality and the struggles of the undocumented worker.
Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?
May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
Madness and witchery as well as bestiality are conditions commonly associated with the use of the female voice in public.
A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss; But of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain.
'Fecundity' is an ugly word for an ugly subject. It is ugly, at least, in the eggy animal world. I don't think it is for plants.
I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again.
How can people think that artists seek a name? There is no such thing as an artist - only the world, lit or unlit, as the world allows.
Books swept me away, this way and that, one after the other; I made endless vows according to their lights for I believed them.
The essence of oppression is that one is defined from the outside by those who define themselves as superior by criteria of their own choice.
