It is a difficult lesson to learn today-to leave one's friends and family and deliberately practice the art of solitude for an hour or a day or a week. And yet, once it is done, I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.

Failures aren't failures if you learn something from them.

For in our family an experience was not finished, not truly experienced, unless written down or shared with another.

When the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation.

Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.

It was a magic caused by the collision of modern methods and old ones; modern history and ancient; accessibility and isolation. And it was a magic which could only strike spark about that time. A few years earlier, from the point of view of aircraft alone, it would have been impossible to reach these places; a few later, and there will be no such isolation.

Too many people, too many demands, too much to do; competent, busy, hurrying people - It just isn't living at all.