In The Midst Of Death Life Persists.

A Dissolute Character Is More Dissolute In Thought Than In Deed. And The Same Is True Of Violence. Our Violence In Word And Deed Is But A Feeble Echo Of The Surging Violence Of Thought In Us.

Love Is A Rare Herb That Makes A Friend Even Of A Sworn Enemy And This Herb Grows Out Of Nonviolence.

Suffering Cheerfully Endured, Ceases To Be Suffering And Is Transmuted Into An Ineffable Joy.

All Big Things Are Made Up Of Trifles. My Entire Life Has Been Built On Trifles.

There Is No 'way To Peace,' There Is Only 'peace.