The usual channels of university studies or secretarial work did not appeal to me. I cherished difficult dreams through confidence in myself.

Shall we ever see the 10 million things of the universe simultaneously in order to be the all? I am convinced that to live is to travel towards the world's end.

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

Words are impotent to describe certain emotions.

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.

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

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