Many things in my life have changed since I spent a few short months in a little tiny country on the Mediterranean. One of the things that changed was my favorite author (formerly Louisa May Alcott). One of my favorite authors now is Richard Halliburton, world traveler and "rogue." (I don't usually use the word rogue, for whatever reason...that is a nod to Elizabeth...sounds like something she'd say : ) ) Any way, I really like reading about all the adventures of Richard Halliburton. Here are excerpts from letters he wrote to his parents.
I hope you enjoy!
I hope you enjoy!
“Routine of Life?” Life is not life if it’s just routine, it’s only existence and marking time till death comes to divorce us from it all. Oh, to live a life that is not routine, not in a rut so deep one can’t see over the sides to the limitless horizon beyond. Only to grasp the thrills and inspirations now instead of when I’m “settled” and uninspired with the energy of twenty…He [his traveling companion] doesn’t realize the difficulty will be half the fun. He doesn’t thrill at the hope that the conditions are not usual. All the more adventure if the traveling is the more difficult.
I’ve taken advantage to some extent of my opportunities but the important thing is that I realize that the reaches of life are infinite, and that a door has been opened from a room with four walls to the great outdoors. With this realization I can continue to experiment instead of hibernating in one confine.
That is certainly sound advice…about the maintenance of individuality by each party in matrimony. I wonder if I shall ever have the experience of reconciling my eccentricities to the eccentricities of a wife.
(He never did...)
Of all the things in the world I hate, most of all is to be a tourist.
If a man does not sing, actually or theoretically, when he works, there must be something wrong either with the man or the work.
When I look at the map of the world, the miles I’ve traveled already can’t be found. It appalls me to begin to realize what enormous distances await me, but the greater the distance, the more to see.
Of all the things in the world I hate, most of all is to be a tourist.
If a man does not sing, actually or theoretically, when he works, there must be something wrong either with the man or the work.
When I look at the map of the world, the miles I’ve traveled already can’t be found. It appalls me to begin to realize what enormous distances await me, but the greater the distance, the more to see.
No comments:
Post a Comment