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| Books are an insult to the mind. | |||||
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| Books are an insult to the mind. | |||||
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| Real travel is not about the highlights with witch you dazzle your friends once you're home. It's about the loneliness, the solitude, the evenings spent by yourself, pining to be somewhere else. Those are the moments of true value. You feel half proud of them and half ashamed and you hold them to your heart. | |||||
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| 'Why did you leave the mountains for the sea?' The old storyteller stared at his toes. 'To swim with the fish,' he said. | |||||
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