One of the sweet and expectable aspects of life afloat is the perpetual present moment one lives in and a perception that time is nothing more than the current, an eternal flowing back to the sea.

The open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where a man can lose himself.

For me, writing is not a search for explanations but a ramble in quest of what informs a place, a hunt for equivalents.

Other than to amuse himself, why should a man pretend to know where he's going or understand what he sees?

The biggest hindrance to learning is fear of showing one's self a fool.

There are two kinds of adventurers: those who go truly hoping to find adventure and those who go secretly hoping they won't.

Life doesn't happen along interstates. It's against the law.