Pity makes the world soft to the weak and noble to the strong.

One can be a soldier without dying, and a lover without sighing.

Within yourself deliverance must be searched for, because each man makes his own prison.

There is no caste in blood.

For death, Now I know, is that first breath Which our souls draw when we enter Life, which is of all life center

Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes, Or any searcher know by mortal mind? Veil after veil will lift -but here must be Veil upon veil behind