war is a thug's game. The thug strikes first and harder. He doesn't go by rules and he isn't afraid of hurting people.

For it is not merely the trivial which clutters our lives but the important as well

Nothing feeds the center of being so much as creative work. The curtain of mechanization has come down between the mind and the hand.

When one is a stranger to oneself, then one is estranged from others, too.

The shape of my life is, of course, determined by many things; my background and childhood, my mind and its education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires.

Packing is chiefly planning -- if it is

There comes a moment when the things one has written, even a traveler's memories, stand up and demand a justification. They require an explanation. They query, 'Who am I? What is my name? Why am I here?