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

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.

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

Nature contains no one constant form.

Exile lacks the grandeur, the majesty, of expatriation.

When the root lives on, the new leaves come back.

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

I am not Athenian or Greek but a citizen of the world.

Emigration is easy, but immigration is something else. To flee, yes; but to be accepted?

There are places one comes home to that one has never been to.

One should always have one’s boots on and be ready to leave.

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

Life’s no resting, but a moving.