Of troubles none is greater than to be robbed of one’s native land.

We have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language.

The misfortune of the man of color is having been enslaved. The misfortune and inhumanity of the white man are having killed man somewhere.

When the missionaries first came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said, “Let us pray.” We closed our eyes. When we opened them, we had the Bible and they had the land.

Africa has her mysteries, and even a wise man cannot understand them. But a wise man respects them.

The less intelligent the white man is, the more stupid he thinks the black.

There is no foreign land; it is the traveler only that is foreign.

Some of us would be greatly astonished to learn the reasons why others respect us.

There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the first moment, before a word is spoken.

Many need no other provocation to enmity than that they find themselves excelled.

All of life is a foreign country.

Strangers are an endangered species.

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.