I write with my foot.

I am convinced that to live is to travel towards the world’s end.

One travels to learn once more how to marvel at life in the way a child does.

Shall we ever see the 10 million things of the universe simultaneously in order to be the all? I am convinced that to live is to travel towards the world’s end.

One travels to escape from it all, but that is the great illusion: It cannot be done, since one travels with one’s mind.

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.

The timelessness of a concept has to be woven into the running warp of dying time, vertical power has to be wedded to the horizontal earth.

You can feel as brave as Columbus starting for the unknown the first time you enter a Chinese lane full of boys laughing at you, or when you risk climbing down in a Tibetan pub for a meal of rotten meat.

Only when one is able to grasp wideness can one possess it.

Certain travelers give the impression that they keep moving because only then do they feel fully alive.