Feelings are just visitors, let them come and go.

The leaders come and go, but the people remain. Only the people are immortal.

Dreams they come and go, but thoughts like love will always grow.

I see men come and go, but there’ll be one who’ll collect my soul.

Are you your clothes? Are you your name? Are you your profession? Stop identifying with them. They come and go

I love idleness. I love to busy myself about trifles, to begin a hundred things and not finish one of them, to come and go as my fancy bids me, to change my plan every moment, to follow a fly in all its circlings, to try and uproot a rock to see what is underneath, eagerly to begin a ten-years’ task to give it up after ten minutes: in short, to fritter away the whole day inconsequentially and incoherently, and to follow nothing but the whim of the moment.