Sometimes you have to travel back in time, skirting the obstacles, in order to love someone.
Growing up in Fitzgerald, I lived in an intense microcosm, where your neighbor knows what you're going to do even before you do, where you can recognize a family gene pool by the lift of an eyebrow, o...
Where you are is who you are. The further inside you the place moves, the more your identity is intertwined with it. Never casual, the choice of place is the choice of something you crave.
At Bramasole, the first secret spot that draws me outside is a stump and board bench on a high terrace overlooking the lake and valley. Before I sit down, I must bang the board against a tree to knock...
I would like The Discovery of Poetry to be a field guide to the natural pleasures of language - a happiness we were born to have.
Any arbitrary turning along the way and I would be elsewhere; I would be different.
There are reasons we congregate in these hot spots- to worship beauty and to feel its effects light up the electrolytes in the bloodstream.
What a strange mind, to cover the real thing with an imitation of something real.
I had the urge to examine my life in another culture and move beyond what I knew.
There is no technique, there is just the way to do it.Now, are we going to measure or are we going to cook?
It is not 2006 all over the world. So who are you in a place where 1950 or 1920 is about to arrive?
Falling in love with a book brings the same catapulting madness and zest that falling in love with a person brings.
Martin Buber said, 'All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware.
As travel pushes me forward, memory keeps dragging me backward.
I think I went to Italy initially for the art, architecture, food and history, but I stayed there because of the people in Cortona.
Italy's siren call lures us more and more.
The urge to travel feels magnetic. Two of my favorite words are linked: departure time. And travel whets the emotions, turns upside down the memory bank, and the golden coins scatter.
And my mother, whose radius of travel was short, tied the letters with ribbon and kept them in her desk, When you get the chance, she said to me, go.
Always, I liked the infinitive 'to go.' Let's go, let's go. let's really go. 'Andare' was the first verb I learned to conjugate in Italian. 'Andiamo,' let's go, teh sound comes out at a gallop.
Although he's slight, he has that wiry strength that seems to come more from will than muscle.
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