I have already paid my respects to the skies and to the ladies of my native land; now I wish to greet its citizens, my fellow-countrymen.

Gentlemen, my name is Juan Crisostomo Ibarra y Magsalin." The others gave their names, more or less obscure, and unimportant here.
"My name is A----," said one youth dryly, as he made a slight bow.
"Then I have the honor of addressing the poet whose works have done so much to keep up my enthusiasm for my native land.

It is said that you do not write any more, but I could not learn the reason." "The reason?
Because one does not seek inspiration in order to debase himself and lie.

One writer has been imprisoned for having put a very obvious truth into verse.

They may have called me a poet but they sha'n't call me a fool." "And may I enquire what that truth was ?" "He said that the lion's son is also a lion.