Anything was better than to be loved for one's things.

I never liked Jules Verne, believing that the real was always more fantastic than the fantastical.

I pictured a low timber house with a shingled roof, caulked against storms, with blazing log fires inside and the walls lined with all the best books, somewhere to live when the rest of the world blew up.

As you go along, you literally collect places. I'm fed up with going to places; I shan't go to anymore.

Anything was better than to be loved for one's things.

Man's real home is not a house, but the Road, and that life itself is a journey to be walked on foot.

When people start talking of man's inhumanity to man it means they haven't actually walked far enough.