At its starting point in India, the birthplace of races and religions, the womb of the world.

Woman is the Sunday of man: not his repose only, but his joy; the salt of his life.

How beautifully everything is arranged by Nature; as soon as a child enters the world, it finds a mother ready to take care of it.

Each year, it is necessary to respire, to take breath again, to revive ourselves at the great living sources that forever keep their eternal freshness. Where can we find them if not at the cradle of our race, on the sacred summits from where descend the Indus and the Ganges....?

Love is strong in its passion; affection is powerful in its gentleness.

Woman is a miracle of divine contradictions.

The real, in all this efforts, is that we climb just for climbing.