Hearme, my chiefs! I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun nowstands, I will fight no more forever.

There is sweet joy that comes to us that comes to us after sorrow.

The exercise of power is determined by thousands ofinteractions between the world of the powerful and that of the powerless, allthe more so because these worlds are never divided by a sharp line: everyonehas a small part of himself in both.

Onlyfree men can negotiate. Prisoners cannot enter into contracts. Your freedomand mine cannot be separated.

It is mark of a good man not to know how to do an injury.

Nothingso completely baffles one who is full of trick and duplicity himself, thanstraightforward and simple integrity in another.

All that is sometimes needed to make you content with you lot is a bad dream.

Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble.

Peoplespend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idledreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill theemptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed tosearch was within.

Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. WE can only record its moods and chronicle their return.

Ourlives are not dependent on whether or not we have conflict. It is what we dowith conflict that makes the difference.

Lookingfor fish? Don't climb a tree.