I am convinced that to live is to travel towards the world's end.

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

There is only one valid species of voyage, which is walk towards the men.

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.

The true traveller is the one urged to move about for physical, aesthetic, intellectual as well as spiritual reasons.

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.

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.