One travels to run away from routine, that dreadful routine that kills all imagination and all our capacity for enthusiasm.

Humanity is made up of an infinity of different individuals. Each of us travels for motives exclusively his own.

I refuse to imprison our acts in the rigid mould of sentences.

It is always our own self that we find at the end of the journey. The sooner we face that self, the better.

The benefits of the accomplished journey cannot be weighed in terms of perfect moments, but in terms of how this journey affects and changes our character.

I can see now that a concept or even a feeling makes no sense unless out of our substance we spin around it a web of references, of relationships, of values.