Words are impotent to describe certain emotions.
Others are keen to see if natives other than us live better than we do, without heat in pipes, ice in boxes, sunshine in bulbs, music on disks, or images gliding over a pale screen.
Happiness is the intoxication produced by the moment of poise between a satisfactory past and an immediate future, rich with promise.
Humanity is made up of an infinity of different individuals. Each of us travels for motives exclusively his own.
I wanted to learn a few foreign languages, and therefore I had to go abroad.
Not only does travel give us a new system of reckoning, it also brings to the fore unknown aspects of our own self. Our consciousness being broadened and enriched, we shall judge ourselves more correctly.
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.
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.
Those who appreciate the ways of simple tribes, where every activity is direct and immediately understandable, are able to live among them.
The state of minds vary according to the angle under which one examines them.
From the beginning, I wanted to live my own life, and patiently I shored up that desire against wind and tide.
The usual channels of university studies or secretarial work did not appeal to me. I cherished difficult dreams through confidence in myself.
I gained direct knowledge of the life of the poor in big towns: I have lived the narrowing mechanism of its conditioning and feared it.
I refuse to imprison our acts in the rigid mould of sentences.
I did not want to be depressed by the gap existing between my weakness and my ambition.
