Strange urge, to be gone when one has not yet arrived (Vito Dumas – Alone through the Roaring Forties)
I am one of life’s wanderers, and one of life’s wonderers. And the two so often seem to go hand in hand. Just packing my bag for a fresh trip, for business or for pleasure, seems to clear my head and soothe my soul. Stepping out for the train station or a cab I feel enlivened, my senses sharper, my mind more active.
If I keep moving, I know who I am. Nobody else will, but I will (Stephen Poliakoff – Perfect Strangers)
Of course there’s a scientific explanation for this. There’s a scientific explanation for everything; that dismal sort of scientific explanation that sucks all the mystery and majesty out of life but which we nonetheless pursue because it is in our nature to know. Disengage your brain, busy yourself with the humdrum and the routine, and you release it to its own work, to mapping all the new stuff in your short-term memory against a lifetime of long-term memory. It is here we most easily make connections and it is here we have our flashes of inspiration.
Whoever has the courage to appear always what he is, will sooner or later become what he must be. (Jean Jacques Rousseau)
I’m one of life’s wanderers, and one of life’s wonderers. I play on no great stage, am blessed with no great mind nor any particular eloquence. What I wonder about is of little consequence, but would be of even less consequence if I didn’t write it down.
Strange to find the calendar my enemy, and scared that when I die, so will the things, I think about. (Toad the Wet Sprocket – I think about)