Book: Up the stairs, leading down

I go to school by bus and am all exhausted from homework and washing dishes, and I would like the idle boys to give me their seat at least once, I would probably die of surprise.

I so wanted to convey to them the human tragedy through the comedy of the gods.

Sitting by the window, I caught a cold because there was a hole in it. That is life. You have to pay for pleasure in cash or something else.

Never raise your voice. Let them shut up so they can hear you better.

- What's the buzz? Good idea, Mr. Makkabi, ' I replied.

Understanding does not happen. No one is listening. Every man is an island. Better get him some coffee.

Man's reach should exceed his grasp - or what's a heaven.

We have keys but no locks (except in restrooms), there are boards but no chalk, there are students but no seats, there are teachers but no time to teach.

We must accept the good along with the bad and know our whole life will not consist of some roses.

The heart has its own truth, the mind of doubt.

Exams - more than numbers on paper than the knowledge of the student.

Remember spring. Lilacs and stars. Rose and dew. You and the night. I remember my hand in your hand under the moon hanging like a silver star toggle clasp necklace worn on the neck of the cloud. Remember the trees, the whisper of leaves - these thoughtless talkers. I remember the splashes of the lake. Remember sharp as a thorn, the feeling of love. But why can't I remember your Name?

Ironic detachment is the only way not to get upset.

The teacher should be both an actor, policeman, scholar, jailer, parent, inspector, referee, friend, psychiatrist, accountant, Director and educator, judge and jury, the mastermind and compiler of reports, and Grand master class magazine.