train journeys.

It’s Monday, and I need to get ready for work, but I’d rather pack a roomy, rather gorgeous, brown leather zip-up bag and head to a foreign train station and read a novel by the window while the countryside wakes up.

“True, when the train had crossed the Alps and engaged its slow descent into a sunlit fruitful valley, I had experienced a state of sheer joy, a fulfilment of a longing that lies dormant in many of us whose birth has been into the rain.”

Sybille Bedford | Quicksands | P.194