When we are dreaming alone it is only a dream. When we are dreaming with others, it is the beginning of reality.

When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.

Keep your language. Love its sounds, its modulation, its rhythm. But try to march together with men of different languages, remote from your own, who wish like you for a more just and human world.

Whenever I dream about flying, it's the best feeling in the world.

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We ate away, reminiscing about our victories over the enemies from different streets and villages and competing with each other in casting curses. A few golden butterflies and dragonflies were fluttering around us. The afternoon air was warm and clean, and the town below us seemed like a green harbor full of white sails.