I found a scrap of paper in my backpack today. Something I wrote whilst alone in a big wide phase of life. I seem to have been in the niche of history's repeating, but I don't mind. That my thought had visited others before me just made it  more admirable and me more human.

Me, 2011 Oxford, United Kingdom : 

I sat today behind a cafe window and watched the city that I love move.

The souls inside of it, that I do not know, wandered in many directions, as do the wills and wanders of my own heart. A part of everyone of those souls lives in me.   A part of us all lives in this city. A part of us all lives in each one of us. We are everyone.

Earnest Hemingway, 1940, NYC, United States :

No man is an island, entire of itself ... Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Kahlil Gibran, 1934, Boston, United States (via Lebanon) : 

My soul spoke and revealed unto me that I am not bound in space by the words:

"here, there, and over there."

Hitherto I stood upon my hill, and every other hill seemed distant and far away;

But now I know that the hill whereon I dwell is indeed all hills,

And the valley whereunto I descend comprehends all valleys.

Ad infinitum, semper, ubique... 

Other examples are welcome in comments