Over the course of history, literature has been humanity’s most enduring mirror, reflecting our values, struggles and aspirations.
Words have the power to enlighten, transform and connect us across time and place.
“Literature and Wisdom” is a tribute to the written word, featuring quotations that capture the essence of the human experience and provide guidance for navigating life’s complexities.
In this chapter, you will find reflections from poets, novelists and philosophers whose works have stood the test of time. These reflections remind us of the importance of storytelling, the beauty of language and the insights that only literature can offer.
Whether it is learning lessons from a classic novel or finding comfort in a simple verse, this section celebrates the power of literature to inspire us to think, feel, and grow.
As you read, may these words encourage you to embrace the richness of human thought and the infinite possibilities of wisdom.
A dear friend of mine has found himself today in a situation that is authentically “Pirandellian” (as in Luigi Pirandello, 1934 Literature Nobel Laureate). A cyber-attack has caused him to lose his main social media account, the one through which he used to speak to the world. That account was tied to an alias, and … Read more
Today I learnt something simple and hard: when a discussion slips into a clash of identities, reason switches off.
We are no longer talking about ideas; we are defending tribes.
At that point you waste time and, worse, you risk losing the friend.
Why it happens
Bias and identity.
If an idea is glued to the ego, any argument feels like a personal attack.
“There is nothing noble in being superior to someone else; true nobility lies in being superior to your former self.”
(Ernest Hemingway)
Ambition has a subtle talent: it pushes us to measure our worth against others, as if life were a ranking.
But true greatness does not come from outshining anyone; it comes from surpassing oneself — day after day, mistake after mistake.
“Procrastination is totally a good thing.
You always have something to do tomorrow,
plus you have nothing to do today.”
After all, what is a delay if not a refined form of prioritisation?
A wise leader never rushes; they simply wait for the perfect alignment of circumstances — or, more elegantly, for someone else to act first.
The wise man uses his knowledge when the moment has come.
The prudent man waits for the right moment.
The fool jumps ahead of it.
The idiot lets it pass.
(From the film Never Give Up)
The wise man speaks little, observes much, and acts when the silence of others becomes louder than words.
The prudent man waits—perhaps a little too long, but at least with style.
Freedom without measure is not freedom — it is chaos.
The ancient Greeks understood this long before us.
At the Temple of Apollo in Delphi, they carved two maxims that still serve as a compass for humanity: μηδὲν ἄγαν (mēdén ágan, “nothing in excess”) and γνῶθι σεαυτόν (“know yourself”).
Twin warnings: one against hybris — the arrogance of surpassing every boundary — and the other reminding us that self-knowledge is the first limit worth respecting.
What is a winner?
A maker of losers.
Every victory breaks a balance: there is always someone who lifts the trophy and someone left empty-handed. Winning is never a neutral act, for it defines both who triumphs and who falls.
But to reduce a winner to this alone is too narrow.
The true winner is not merely the one who collects successes, but the one who turns losers into respected opponents, not humiliated enemies.
Sir, let me explain.
I have divided humanity into two categories: men and “caporali” (literally, corporals).
Men form the majority; the “caporali,” fortunately, are the minority.
Men are those who work all their lives like beasts, never seeing a ray of sunshine, without the slightest satisfaction, living in the grey shadow of a wretched existence.
The “caporali” are those who exploit, tyrannise, mistreat, and humiliate. Driven by greed, they always float to the top, often without authority, skill, or intelligence—only the boldness of their brazen faces and their arrogance, ready to harass the ordinary man.
So, Sir, do you understand?
“Caporali” are born, not made. Whatever their class or nationality, they share the same face, the same expressions, the same manners, and the same way of thinking.
Languages are not merely tools for communication; they are supple instruments, capable of shaping emotions, ideas, and nuances of thought with surgical precision or poetic grace.
To speak and write with awareness is not merely a matter of style — it is a matter of effectiveness.
The right words, carefully chosen, can resonate with the listener or reader, invite empathy, and turn a muddled thought into a shared reflection.
I often mention Sicilian as a joyful blend of languages, with Latin at its core.
Of course, it is not the only language shaped by such a pot-pourri of influences. Let us not forget English.
I recently came across this humorous description on War History Online:
“English is what happens when Vikings learn Latin and use it to shout at Germans, and then the French shout back.”
In those days…
“En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu’aujourd’hui.”
“In those days, life was more beautiful,
and the sun burned more fiercely than it does today.”
Occam’s Razor
William of Occam, a 14th-century Franciscan friar, left us a principle as self-evident as it is often ignored:
“Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem.”
In plain English:
“Do not multiply entities beyond necessity.”
Today, this principle is widely used in scientific, logical, and investigative contexts, often expressed as:
“All else being equal, the simplest explanation is to be preferred.”
At the bottom of the social ladder, solidarity is not charity — it is community.
“If you’re in trouble or hurt or need, go to poor people.
They’re the only ones that’ll help, the only ones.”
(John Steinbeck)
This is not just a social observation. It is a moral indictment, a political commentary, and a deeply human truth, distilled into a single sentence.
“Stupidity is infinitely more fascinating than intelligence — infinitely deeper. Intelligence has its limits; stupidity has none.”
(Claude Chabrol)
Chabrol suggests that stupidity is fascinating not because of any redeeming quality, but because of its unpredictability.
Intelligence, however brilliant, tends to follow rules, logic, and structure.
Stupidity does not: it is anarchic, capricious, without proportion.
And for precisely that reason, it can surprise, disorient, even attract those who view the world as a theatre of the absurd.
Today, the true devil is approximation.
By devil, I mean that kind of irredeemable negativity, from which no good can arise.
We encounter it in vague speeches, in generalisations, in the imprecision of thought and language, especially when accompanied by arrogance and petulance.
Here, the devil reveals itself as the enemy of clarity, both in one’s inner reflections and in communication with others. It is the personification of deception and self-deception.
“Nihil est tam inaequale quam aequalitas ipsa.”
Nothing is so unequal as equality itself.
(Pliny the Elder)
Equality has established itself as the great rallying cry of the modern age — the symbolic banner under which civil, social, and political battles are waged. It embodies a noble aspiration: a fairer, more inclusive, more humane society.
Yet in the shift from principle to ideology, from operative criterion to unquestionable dogma, equality has assumed the character of a contemporary myth.
“Carpe Diem”
The Latin phrase carpe diem, meaning “seize the day,” takes on a deeper and more delicate resonance when viewed through the lens of affectionate memory.
Traditionally, carpe diem is interpreted as a call to action: to live boldly, to pursue joy, to postpone no dream.
Abd al-Rahmān Ibn Khaldūn (Tunis, 1332 – Cairo, 1406), one of the sharpest minds of the medieval Euro-Mediterranean world, offered a powerful critique of the decline of Islamic civilisation. Regarded by many scholars as a precursor to Hobbes, Vico, and Marx, he is widely considered the most influential philosopher and sociologist of his era.
At the core of Ibn Khaldūn’s thought lies a fundamental insight: empires are not permanent structures, but living systems that follow a discernible cycle—rising through unity and vigour, and declining through complacency and decay.
“The best fighter is never angry.”
(Lao Tzu)
A few days ago, I shared a recent experience—an episode marked by the disappointing conduct of someone who had once been a trusted companion.
In response, I made a conscious and deliberate decision: to step away.
The climate shifts from cool or cold to mild, and the colors of nature begin to change.
Today, the way we build our homes and the environments we inhabit tend to dull this transition.
Air conditioning, heating, soundproofing, and the constant hum of our cities mute our senses.
Yet, stepping outside for a walk is enough to awaken our awareness once more.