The wideness of the horizon has to be inside us, cannot be anywhere but inside us, otherwise what we speak about is geographic distances.

You can feel as brave as Columbus starting for the unknown the first time you enter a Chinese lane full of boys laughing at you, or when you risk climbing down in a Tibetan pub for a meal of rotten meat.

It is always our own self that we find at the end of the journey. The sooner we face that self, the better.

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.

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 escape from it all, but that is the great illusion: It cannot be done, since one travels with one's mind.

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