I get my exercise acting as a pallbearer to my friends who exercise.
True friends are like diamonds precious but rare. Fake friends are like fall leaves found everywhere.
Wherever we are, it is our friends that make our world.
We know our friends by their defects rather than by their merits.
My friends and my road-fellows, pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion. Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and drinks a wine that flows not from its own winepress. Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful. Pity the nation that raises not its voice save when it walks in a funeral, boasts not except among its ruins, and will rebel not save when its neck is laid between the sword and the block. Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking. Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpetings, and farewells him with hootings, only to welcome another with trumpetings again. Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.
If we would build on a sure foundation in friendship, we must love friends for their sake rather than for our own.
Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.
The advice of friends must be received with a judicious reserve we must not give ourselves up to it and follow it blindly, whether right or wrong.