Somewhere lives a bad Cajun cook, just as somewhere must live one last ivory-billed woodpecker. For me, I don't expect ever to encounter either one.

I can't say, over the miles, that I had learned what I had wanted to know because I hadn't known what I wanted to know. But I did learn what I didn't know I wanted to know.

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

Instead of insight, maybe all a man gets is strength to wander for a while. Maybe the only gift is a chance to inquire, to know nothing for certain. An inheritance of wonder and nothing more.

Memory is each man's own last measure, and for some, the only achievement.

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

No yesterdays on the road.