Some Who Are Too Scrupulous To Steal

Have You Not Heard Of The Man Who Was Digging In The Earth For Roots And Found A Treasure?

Pity The Nation Whose Statesman Is A Fox, Whose Philosopher Is A Juggler, And Whose Art Is The Art Of Patching And Mimicking. Pity The Nation That Welcomes Its New Ruler With Trumpetings, And Farewells Him With Hootings, Only To Welcome Another Ruler With Trumpetings Again. Pity The Nation Whose Sages Are Dumb With Years And Whose Strong Men Are Yet In The Cradle. Pity The Nation Divided Into Fragments, Each Fragment Deeming Itself A Nation.

They Give That They May Live, For To Withhold Is To Perish.

Who Among You Does Not Feel That His Power To Love Is Boundless? And Yet Who Does Not Feel That Very Love, Though Boundless, Encompassed Within The Center Of His Being, And Moving Not From Love Thought To Love Thought, Nor From Love Deeds To Other Love Deeds?

Only Once Have I Been Made Mute. It Was When A Man Asked Me, 'who Are You?'