But that’s the wonderful thing about foreign travel, suddenly you are five years old again. You can’t read anything, you have only the most basic sense of how things work, you can’t even reliably cross the street without endangering your life. Your whole existence becomes a series of interesting guesses.
— Bill Bryson, Neither here nor There (via maddierose)
We must be our own before we can be another’s.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson (via sahrana)
In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.
— Buddhist Saying (via wolf-cub)
