A journey is a fragment of Hell.
For life is a journey through a wilderness
Proust, more perspicaciously than any other writer, reminds us that the 'walks' of childhood form the raw material of our intelligence.
To lose a passport was the least of one’s worries. To lose a notebook was a catastrophe.
Music… is a memory bank for finding one’s way about the world.
Even today, when an Aboriginal mother notices the first stirrings of speech in her child, she lets it handle the "things" of that particular country: leaves, fruit, insects and so forth. "We give our children guns and computer games," Wendy said. "They gave their children the land."