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  • In this life, nobody has forever in which to leave home, to return, to make a new home, or to open the door to someone. Death doesn't wait while we tidy everything up. And there are several kinds of dying.

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In this life, nobody has forever in which to leave home, to return, to make a new home, or to open the door to someone. Death doesn't wait while we tidy everything up. And there are several kinds of dying.

Traveling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.

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