Memory Is Each Man's Own Last Measure,

I Like The Digressive Kind Of Traveling, Where There's Not A Particular, Set, Goal.

On The Old Highway Maps Of America, The Main Routes Were Red And The Back Roads Blue. Now Even The Colors Are Changing.

Instead Of Insight, Maybe All A Man Gets Is Strength To Wander For A While. Maybe The Only Gift Is A Chance To Inquire, To Know Nothing For Certain. An Inheritance Of Wonder And Nothing More.

Beware Thoughts That Come In The Night. They Aren't Turned Properly; They Come In Askew, Free Of Sense And Restriction, Deriving From The Most Remote Of Sources.

Adventure Is Putting One's Ignorance Into Motion.