I'm One Of Those Perverse People Who

A Person Susceptible To "wanderlust" Is Not So Much Addicted To Movement As Committed To Transformation.

A Comma . . . Catches The Gentle Drift Of The Mind In Thought, Turning In On Itself And Back On Itself, Reversing, Redoubling, And Returning Along The Course Of Its Own Sweet River Music; While The Semicolon Brings Clauses And Thoughts Together With All The Silent Discretion Of A Hostess Arranging Guests Around Her Dinner Table.

Like The Moon On The Water, In A Way. When You Confront A Zen Master, What You're Really Seeing Are Not His Limitations But Yours.

Traveling Is A Way To Reverse Time, To A Small Extent, And Make A Day Last A Year - Or At Least Forty-five Hours - And Traveling Is An Easy Way Of Surrounding Ourselves, As In Childhood, With What We Cannot Understand.

For More And More Of Us, Home Has Really Less To Do With A Piece Of Soil Than, You Could Say, With A Piece Of Soul. If Somebody Suddenly Asks Me, "where's Your Home?" I Think About My Sweetheart Or My Closest Friends Or The Songs That Travel With Me Wherever I Happen To Be.