Quotes from Paul Theroux

I had felt myself not merely incapable of love . . . but even of guilt.

Many Mexicans I met—working in hotels, restaurants, and shops, driving taxis—had held jobs in the States and been thrown out.

just ten steps from one country to the other, a door in the wall

they had been summoned to Mexico for a family emergency and had been unable to return.

Just curiosity," I said. When he made a disapproving squint, I added, "Don't you go over now and then?" "Never been there," he said. "It's ten feet away!" "I'm staying here," he said, his squint now suggesting that I should be doing the same.

Thousands of Mexicans, all with visas or US passports, crossed the border daily to work or shop in El Paso.

There are four here." And she shrugged. "They don't bother me." Ellos no me molestan. "They fight with each other," Miguel had told me on the bus, "and with the police.

Nothing is stranger than being in a fairly bad place and being told that another place-your destination-is a great deal worse.

Days you spend on the water are not deducted from your life," he said, and laughed. "Surfing keeps you from growing old.

If you didn't want drugs in your country, we wouldn't have cartels in ours.

Travel is not a vacation, and it is often the opposite of a rest.

the helpful 2012 guide Don't Go There. It's Not Safe. You'll Die, and Other More Rational Advice for Overlanding Mexico and Central America.

I refuse to give the police a mordida." A bribe.

the combination of killing, mutilation, and mass forced disappearance—was targeted directly at the students for being radical, organized, poor; rural and indigenous students of a school noted for its anti-government organizing

But that is only partly true. The cartels are now more involved than ever in human trafficking, because though it is not quite as profitable, the penalties for smuggling people are far less than for smuggling drugs.

Yet the days I spent in Mazatlán were peaceful, strolling on the malecón—thirteen miles of seafront promenade

Visitors from Tucson and beyond would pop over for a break from the routine—an opportunity to buy clay pots or sombreros, drink a world-class margarita

in 1990, a fifteen-year-old boy was climbing the fence, and when he got to the top, a Border Patrol agent shot him. He fell back onto the Mexico side and he died.

But these people at the lunch were part of a class that has always existed in China-the scholar gentry. They were special and a little suspect and set apart. They were important but no emperor had ever really felt easy with them, and Mao had actually tried to cut them down to size and even humiliate them by sending them into the countryside during the Cultural Revolution.

the city's metro—the Metrorrey—twenty miles long, thirty-one stations, and more lines under construction. Who knew Monterrey had a rapid transit system?

I was aware that in handing these pictures out I was breaking the law. But what the hell. They had nuisance value. They made the Tibetans happy.

In Cairo, there was a thin line between pestering and hospitality – indeed, they often amounted to the same thing, and although there were plenty of beggars there was little thievery.

And I had the gringo's instant assurance that my country, and my car, was just behind the humongous wall.

crooked police, cruel soldiers, and a government indifferent to the plight of most citizens.