People of this world are deluded. They're always longing for something - always, in a word, seeking.
We may think we are nurturing our garden, but of course it's our garden that is really nurturing us.
Every book for me is a chapter in the long book which will finally be closed on the day of my death.
It is strange, is it not, how a person can adore one's soul so much that they adore one's body also?
It is the admirer of himself, and not the admirer of virtue, that thinks himself superior to others.