Knowledge of peace passes from country to country, like children's games, which are so much alike, everywhere.

Jerusalem is a port city on the shore of eternity.

From the place where we are right, flowers will not grow in the spring.

The soul inside me is the last foreign language I'm learning.

Love is like a reservoir of kindness and pleasure, like silos and pools during a siege.

Behind all this, some great happiness is hiding.

And as we stray further from love, we multiply the words. Had we remained together we could have become a silence.

My poems are political in the deeper sense of the word. Political means to live in your time, to be a man of your time.

There are two languages: one as things seem to us and the other of knowledge.

It was not an adventure; it was my life.

I think the end is endless. It's either a big black hole or a big white light or both together. But it's totally meaningless, because even if someone would explain it, I wouldn't understand it.

You have been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn't worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.

As soon as people enter a theater they must become moron consumers who must be fed information.

There is a peculiar contradiction in trying to be a member of a republic while believing that the universe is a monarchy.

Talented people almost always know full well the excellence that is in them.

It's an embarrassment that we don't have a broad enough consensus among political leaders that true reform should take place.

Wisdom isn't to know these words. Wisdom isn't to have ideas or philosophies - those are just thoughts. Wisdom is to be that perfect consciousness.

What kind of truth is this which is true on one side of a mountain and false on the other?

The thing which seems so glorious when viewed from the heights of the country's cause looks so muddy when seen from the bottom. One begins by getting angry and then feels disgusted.

At a certain age just being around particular people is an event.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.