Quotes About Journey

Doc followed the prints of her bare feet already collapsing into rain and shadow, as if in a fool's attempt to find his way back into a past that despite them both had gone on into the future it did. The surf, only now and then visible, was hammering at his spirit, knocking things loose, some to fall into the

They steered south. Gordita Beach emerged from the haze, gently flaking away in the salt breezes, the ramshackle town in a spill of weather-beaten colors, like paint chips at some out-of-the-way hardware store, and the hillside up to Dunecrest, which Doc had always thought of, especially after nights of excess, as steep, a grade everybody sooner or later wiped their clutch trying to get up and out of town on, looking from out here strangely flat, hardly there at all.

In the buses all night she listened to transistor radios playing songs in the lower stretches of the Top 200, that would never become popular, whose melodies and lyrics would perish as if they had never been sung. A Mexican girl, trying to hear one of these through snarling static from the bus's motor, hummed along as if she would remember it always, tracing post horns and hearts with a fingernail, in the haze of her breath on the window.

Considerately, Stu Gotz, or somebody, has put on a MILF-night mix, which includes a lot of disco, plus tracks from U2, Guns N' Roses, Journey. And pandering to this crowd, way too much Moby for Maxine's taste, except possibly That's When I Reach for My Revolver.

Doc followed the prints of her bare feet already collapsing into rain and shadow, as if in a fool's attempt to find his way back into a past that despite them both had gone on into the future it did. The surf, only now and then visible, was hammering at his spirit, knocking things loose, some to fall into the dark and be lost forever, some to edge into the fitful light of his attention whether he wanted to see them or not.

Their boats ride the lenient Current together, in and out of the Shadows, ever in easy reach of rescue, the Boy shepherding them with Willow Wands, no more obtrusive in this Naval History than Gods in a Myth.

There are places we fear, places we dream, places whose exiles we became and never learned it until, sometimes, too late.

Latitudes and Departures

Somewhere, among the wastes of the World, is the key that will bring us back, restore us to our Earth and to our freedom.

Slothrop's Progress: London the secular city instructs him: turn any corner and he can find himself inside a parable.

The Chinese remind us that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, yet they keep curiously silent about the step itself, which too often must be taken, as now, from inaccessible ground, if not indeed straight down into an unmeasured abyss.

Each is a cold announcement of dead ends, suns that will refuse to stand, but flee south, ever south, leaving us to north-without-end.

How they persist. The poor, the black. And the Jews! The Welsh, the Welsh once upon a time were Jewish too? one of the Lost Tribes of Israel, a black tribe, who wandered overland, centuries? oh an incredible journey. Until at last they reached Wales, you see.

ROCKETMAN WAS HERE.

el otro lado and an earlier day, in the years between grown

As one who's been down that particular exit ramp," Hope advised, "you can only cruise the boulevards of regret so far, and then you've got to get back up onto the freeway again.

She gazed backward at iron convergences and receding signal-lamps. Outward and visible metaphor, she thought, for the complete ensemble of free choices that define the course of a human life. A new switching point every few seconds, sometimes seen, sometimes traveled over invisibly and irrevocably. From on board the train one can stand and look back, and watch it all flowing away, shining, as if always meant to be.

They fly toward grace.

I believe that people are like portmanteaux - packed with certain things, started going, thrown about, tossed away, dumped down, lost and found, half emptied suddenly, or squeezed fatter than ever, until finally the Ultimate Porter swings them on to the Ultimate Train and away they rattle...

Not at all; I don't believe in the human soul. I never have. I believe that people are like portmanteaux—packed with certain things, started going, thrown about, tossed away, dumped down, lost and found, half emptied suddenly, or squeezed fatter than ever, until finally the Ultimate Porter swings them on to the Ultimate Train and away they rattle.…

I have two rooms and a huge balcony, and so many mountains that I haven't even begun to climb them yet.

I encourage you to set foot on a journey to a more authentic life, the same journey I wrote about in my memoir, The Box of Daughter: Healing the Authentic Self. Sharing our stories helps us heal ourselves, and as we share, we begin to heal ourselves, and in doing so, we help to heal the world.

La fede nella vita è credere che il panorama esista e che dietro la nebbia ci sia un posto per te.

Hay un proverbio senegalés que dice: «Cuando no sepas adónde vas, párate y mira de dónde vienes».