Life’s no resting, but a moving.

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

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

Can you take your country with you on the soles of your shoes?

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.

I have loved justice and hated iniquity: therefore I die in exile.

The first thing that a new migrant sends to his family back home isn’t money; it’s a story.

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

It was lonesome, the leaving.

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

Civilization, as we know it, is a movement and not a condition, a voyage and not a harbor.

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