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To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.

-- Freya Stark

(Genova, Italy)

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On the Gentle Rhythm of the Wind A sailboat drifts, not in haste, but in grace. The Adriatic whispers, “You’ll get there — but let the sun touch your skin first.”

No one’s in a rush on this sea. Especially not the wind.

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You see, one loves the sunset when one is so sad.

-- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

(Bistrița, Romania)

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The best architect is a poet who thinks and speaks in images.

-- Louis Kahn

(Bucharest, Romania)

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the constant force

that holds us back

gravity weighs heavy

on us all

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You can never really get away - you can only take yourself somewhere else.

-- Charles M Schwab

(Taormina, Italy)

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And in the summer shade, we find the joy of simple pleasures, a refreshing escape from the heat.

-- Robert Louis Stevenson

(Hombrechtikon, Switzerland)

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Almost forgot the peace and non-involvement promises

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Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(Sulina, Romania)

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We may call painting the grandchild of nature.

-- Leonardo da Vinci

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Do you believe in past lives?

Nah, not at all.

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"Seasons don't fear the reaper... Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain, We can be like they are..."

Blue Oyster Cult. "Don't Fear the Reaper"

The Caryatids of the Erechtheion. The Acropolis of Athens.

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From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.

-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

(Zürich, Switzerland)

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We are all just lost souls wandering through the endless corridors of this city, searching for something we cannot name

-- Charlie Jane Anders

(Warszawa, Poland)

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It's made me realize that imperfect is perfectly comfortable to me. Whether it's a city or my apartment, I feel most at home when things are somewhat flawed.

-- Hoda Kotb

(Chambéry, France)

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Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.

-- Truman Capote

(Cagliari, Italy)