When a man has pity on all living creatures then only is he noble.

There is no pity for a man who moans about living in one town and does not move to another.

Self-pity in its early stages is as snug as a feather mattress. Only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable.

Pity may represent little more than the impersonal concern which prompts the mailing of a check, but true sympathy is the personal concern which demands the giving of one's soul.

He who walks in the eightfold noble path with unswerving determination is sure to reach Nirvana.

As the births of living creatures are at first ill-shapen, so are all innovations, which are the births of time.