The Only Effort Worth Making Is The

The Sky Hides The Night Behind It And Shelters The People Beneath From The Horror That Lies Above.

Whereas The Tourist Generally Hurries Back Home At The End Of A Few Weeks Or Months, The Traveler Belonging No More To One Place Than To The Next, Moves Slowly Over Periods Of Years, From One Part Of The Earth To Another. Indeed, He Would Have Found It Difficult To Tell, Among The Many Places He Had Lived, Precisely Where It Was He Had Felt Most At Home.

One Never Took The Time To Savour The Details; One Said: Another Day, But Always With The Hidden Knowledge That Each Day Was Unique And Fatal, That There Never Would Be A Return, Another Time.

If People And Their Manner Of Living Were Alike Everywhere, There Would Not Be Much Point In Moving From One Place To Another.

Publishers Are Thieves, They Are On The Other Side Of The Barricade.