Wednesday, June 10, 2009

After a long and toilsome march, weary of the way, [the wanderer] drops into the nearest place of rest to become the most domestic of men ... But soon the passive fit has passed away; again a paroxysm of ennui coming on by slow degrees, Viator loses appetite, he walks about his room all night, he yawns at conversations, and a book acts upon him as a narcotic. The man wants to wander, and he must do so, or he shall die.
Sir Richard Burton, Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El-Medinah and Meccah, 1855


RD said...

This you, isn't it?! I haven't wandered as much as have in the past, and I'm getting itchy feet. I'm just a wandering woman wannabe!

Di Mackey said...

You'll wander, if your feet are itchy RD, there's no ignoring them and you know there's space for you over here at our place :)

I fold pages over in my books you see and I found this one in a John Simpson book yesterday. It felt like it fitted, or that it opened up a conversation that I would have liked to have thought further on but was too tired to deal with ... so it was enough to post it for now.