What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Brass is polished by ashes; copper is cleaned by tamarind; a woman, by her menses; and a river by its flow.

The world is the great gymnasium where we come to make ourselves strong.

The man and the movement seemed 'reactionary' in my eyes.

The man who has no sense of history, is like a man who has no ears or eyes.

The world don't need any more songs... As a matter of fact, if nobody wrote any songs from this day on, the world ain't gonna suffer for it... There's enough songs for people to listen to, if they want to listen to songs. For every man, woman and child on earth, they could be sent, probably, each of them, a hundred songs, and never be repeated... Unless someone's gonna come along with a pure heart and has something to say. That's a different story.