Man And Woman Are Two Locked Caskets,

Your Own Self, Your Personality And Existence Are Reflected Within The Mind Of Each Of The People Whom You Meet, ... Into A Likeness, A Caricature Of Yourself, Which Still Lives On And Appears To Be, In Some Way, The Truth About You. Even A Flattering Picture Is... A Lie.

If I Know A Song Of Africa, Of The Giraffe And The African New Moon Lying On Her Back, Of The Plows In The Fields And The Sweaty Faces Of The Coffee Pickers, Does Africa Know A Song Of Me? Will The Air Over The Plain Quiver With A Color That I Have Had On, Or The Children Invent A Game In Which My Name Is, Or The Full Moon Throw A Shadow Over The Gravel Of The Drive That Was Like Me, Or Will The Eagles Of The Ngong Hills Look Out For Me?

When In The End, The Day Came On Which I Was Going Away, I Learned The Strange Learning That Things Can Happen Which We Ourselves Cannot Possibly Imagine, Either Beforehand, Or At The Time When They Are Taking Place, Or Afterwards When We Look Back On Them.

If Only I Could So Live And So Serve The World That After Me There Should Never Again Be Birds In Cages.

I Have Read True Piety Defined As: Loving One’s Destiny Unconditionally – And There Is Something In It. That Is To Say: I Think That In A Way This Sort Of “religiousness” Is The Condition For Real Happiness.