The red sands of Marrakesh, sprawling at the foot of the Atlas like a wounded Leviathan.

The curly red lines across the African deserts had the fascination of a magnet, and I hoped fervently that the pioneers who were writing their names over the blank spaces, would leave just one small desert for me.

There were twelve dishes of lamb cooked in different rich sauces, with a monster bowl of strange oddments, which I imagine also belonged to the private life of a sheep, floating in rich gravy.

the desert breeds reserve. It is so big that one's own plans and projects seem too little to be talked about. Also, there is so much time to say anything that one continually puts it off and ends by never saying it at all.

The desert has a subtle and a cruel charm. She destroys while she enthralls.

it is a curious fact that camels walk more quickly and straighter to the sound of singing.

That is the charm of the map. It represents the other side of the horizon where everything is possible.