I can see now that a concept or even a feeling makes no sense unless out of our substance we spin around it a web of references, of relationships, of values.

Others are keen to see if natives other than us live better than we do, without heat in pipes, ice in boxes, sunshine in bulbs, music on disks, or images gliding over a pale screen.

Happiness is the intoxication produced by the moment of poise between a satisfactory past and an immediate future, rich with promise.

One of the main points about travelling is to develop in us a feeling of solidarity, of that oneness without which no better world is possible.

Not only does travel give us a new system of reckoning, it also brings to the fore unknown aspects of our own self. Our consciousness being broadened and enriched, we shall judge ourselves more correctly.

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

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