He wasn't a great man, but he had a great life.

Chasing angels or fleeing demons, go to the mountains.

It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.

Those who travel to mountain-tops are half in love with themselves, and half in love with oblivion.

I ended up in the back seat of a chicken truck’s cab heading through beautiful scenery and disastrous roads to my hotel. About an hour later, we stopped to sell a few hundred of the chickens to a butcher shop.

Meandering cows, tenacious bicyclers, belching taxis, rickshaws, fearless pedestrians and the occasional mobile ‘cigarette and sweets’ stand all fought our taxi for room on the narrow two-lane road turned local byway.