Drifting across the vast space, silent except for wind and footsteps, I felt uncluttered and unhurried for the first time in a while, already on desert time.

Language is like a road, it cannot be perceived all at once because it unfolds in time, whether heard or read. This narrative or temporal element has made writing and walking resemble each other.

A path is a prior interpretation of the best way to traverse a landscape.

The magic of the street is the mingling of the errand and the epiphany.

A labyrinth is a symbolic journey . . . but it is a map we can really walk on, blurring the difference between map and world.

If the body is the register of the real, then reading with one's feet is real in a way reading with one's eyes alone is not.

... a certain kind of wanderlust can only be assuaged by the acts of the body itself in motion, not the motion of the car, boat, or plane.

Earlier 18th-century literary language was not supple enough to connect the life of the imagination to that of the street.

...I fear their false urgency, their call to speed, their insistence that travel is less important than arrival...

A real girl isn't perfect and a perfect girl isn't real.

If only sorrow could bring hope, I'd learn to live again

I hated childhood, and spent it sitting behind a book waiting for adulthood to arrive.

Inside you're like some kind of mirror, reflecting everything without absorbing it.

If you're able to be yourself, then you have no competition. All you have to do is get closer and closer to that essence.

This world is full of broken things: broken hearts, broken promises, broken people.

The God who has the whole world in his hands has grace for the whole world in his heart.

You have more fun and enjoy more financial success when you stop trying to get what you want and start helping other people get what they want.

Mrs Dalloway is always giving parties to cover the silence

I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, Photographically lined On the tablet of my mind