“Pass not beneath, O Caravan, or pass not singing. Have you heardThat silence where the birds are dead yet something pipeth like a bird?”

“We men of this age are rotten with book-lore and with a yearning for the past.”

“We travel not for trafficking alone;By hotter winds our hearts are fanned:For lust of knowing what should not be knownWe take the Golden Road to Samarkand.”

“Be like the bird that, passing on her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings.”

“A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.”

“Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love;Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough.Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and howIn the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.”

“Disappear where?" You know what they say: Curiosity killed the mutant bird kid. But I couldn't help myself.”