Where shall I, of wandering weary, find my resting place at last?

The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.

I have been a stranger here in my own land all my life.

Let us leave this Europe which never stops talking of Man yet massacres him at every one of its street corners, at every corner of the world.

Do not fear the clatter of wheels, the bumps and slops in corridors. It is only turbulence.

Exile lacks the grandeur, the majesty, of expatriation.

Uprootedness is by far the most dangerous malady to which human societies are exposed, for it is a self-propagating one.

History in its broadest aspect is a record of man’s migrations from one environment to another.

Spring now comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and the early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of birdsong.

They exchange their home and sweet thresholds for exile, and seek under another sun another home.

Better free in a strange land than a slave at home.

Usually speaking, the worst-bred person in company is a young traveler just returned from abroad.

Those who go overseas find a change of climate, not a change of soul.