One travels to run away from routine, that dreadful routine that kills all imagination and all our capacity for enthusiasm.

One travels so as to learn once more how to marvel at life in the way a child does. And blessed be the poet, the artist who knows how to keep alive his sense of wonder.

I gained direct knowledge of the life of the poor in big towns: I have lived the narrowing mechanism of its conditioning and feared it.

I am sure that instinctively we wish to be everything, to possess it-why cut the rose or marry the man, otherwise?

One travels to run away from routine, that dreadful routine that kills all imagination and all our capacity for enthusiasm.

The timelessness of a concept has to be woven into the running warp of dying time, vertical power has to be wedded to the horizontal earth.

From the beginning, I wanted to live my own life, and patiently I shored up that desire against wind and tide.