Written by Aung San Suu Kyi
Mainichi Japan
Some of my favorite memories of Oxford are linked to museums. First of all, the Ashmolean. A swerve of the bike was all that was necessary to take me there on my way home from the center of town. The quiet that wrapped around me as I wandered through the almost deserted ground floor rooms seemed to enhance the luminescence of Chinese porcelain. I would stand in front of a single vase exquisite in its simplicity and gaze on it with nothing very much in my mind except the knowledge that I just wanted to go on gazing.
Some of my favorite memories of Oxford are linked to museums. First of all, the Ashmolean. A swerve of the bike was all that was necessary to take me there on my way home from the center of town. The quiet that wrapped around me as I wandered through the almost deserted ground floor rooms seemed to enhance the luminescence of Chinese porcelain. I would stand in front of a single vase exquisite in its simplicity and gaze on it with nothing very much in my mind except the knowledge that I just wanted to go on gazing.



