I think the intelligence I get is darn good intelligence.
That same preface also contains a single line that really does sum everything up: 'Some other places were not so good but maybe we were not so good when we were in them. '
All the above is, of course, a gross simplification. There are deeper reasons to travel - itches and tickles on the underbelly of the unconscious mind. We go where we need to go, and then try to figure out what we're doing there.
Sharing a bit of yourself, opening a window into your own world, is a good place to begin.
In Nepal, the phenomenon is reversed. Time is a stick of incense that burns without being consumed. One day can seem like a week; a week, like months. Mornings stretch out and crack their spines with the yogic impassivity of house cats. Afternoons bulge with a succulent ripeness, like fat peaches. There is time enough to do everything - write a letter, eat breakfast, read the paper, visit a shrine or two, listen to the birds, bicycle downtown to change money, buy postcards, shop for Buddhas - and arrive home in time for lunch.
We go where we need to go, and then try to figure out what we're doing there.
Whatever attitudes we habitually use toward ourselves, we will use on others, and whatever attitudes we habitually use toward others, we will use on ourselves.
I think girls are the most beautiful when they become a mother.
I probably spend six hours on just my mascara. I like to get that "Hi I want to ******* kill you" look.
Paint what you are, paint what you believe, paint what you feel.