His Head Is Made Of Stars, But

Travelling, One Accepts Everything; Indignation Stays At Home. One Looks, One Listens, One Is Roused To Enthusiasm By The Most Dreadful Things Because They Are New. Good Travellers Are Heartless.

I Cannot Become Modest; Too Many Things Burn In Me; The Old Solutions Are Falling Apart; Nothing Has Been Done Yet With The New Ones. So I Begin, Everywhere At Once, As If I Had A Century Ahead Of Me.

There Is Nothing That Man Fears More Than The Touch Of The Unknown.

He Would Like To Start From Scratch. Where Is Scratch?

Words Are Not Too Old, Only People Are Too Old If They Use The Same Words Too Frequently.