Travel is a state of mind. It has nothing to do with existence or the exotic. It is almost always an inner experience.

There has to be a measure of difficulty or problem-solving in travel for it to be worthwhile.

Is there any point in going across the world to eat something or buy something or watch people squatting among their ruins? Travel is a state of mind. It has nothing to do with distance or the exotic. It is almost entirely an inner experience.

It is fatal to know too much at the outcome: boredom comes as quickly to the traveler who knows his route as to the novelist who is over certain of his plot.

I think I understand passion. Love is something else.

All politicians, even the most idealistic ones, are looking for money, sucking up to rich people.

Anything is possible on a train: a great meal, a binge, a visit from card players, an intrigue, a good night's sleep, and strangers' monologues framed like Russian short stories.