Quotes About Journey

As in a dream we zoomed through small crossroads towns smack out of the darkness, and passed long lines of lounging harvest hands and cowboys in the night.

He's filling empty space with the substance of our lives, confessions of his bellybottom strain, remembrance of ideas, rehashes of old blowing.

Ce n'è ancora, di strada

now began to see they were going to stick and I was going to be left alone on my butt at the other end of the continent. But why think about that when all the golden land's ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?

We were standing outside on the great steps of the hall high above the blue waters of San Francisco Bay, and they were there, the white ships on the tide, and all my love rose to sing my newfound seaman's life. -- The Sea! Real ships! My sweet ship had come in, no dream but true with tangled rigging and actual shipmates and the job slip secure in my wallet and only the night before I'd been kicking cockroaches in my tiny dark room in 3rd Street slums.

and only because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere

Non è forse vero che si comincia a vivere da bambini innocenti che credono a tutto quello che succede sotto il tetto paterno? Poi arriva il giorno dei Laodicei, quando si capisce di essere sfiniti e infelici e poveri e ciechi e nudi, e con facce da spettri orridi e dolenti ci si incammina rabbrividendo lungo il sentiero da incubo della vita.

Diamo e prendiamo e penetriamo in dolcezze incredibilmente complicate andando a zig zag da qualsiasi parte.

the road is life.

Se continuate così diventerete pazzi tutti e due, però fatemi sapere quel che succede mentre procedete.»

Non è forse vero che si comincia la vita come un dolce fanciullo che crede in tutto ciò che sta sotto il tetto paterno ? Poi viene il giorno dei Laodicei, quando si sa che si è distrutti e miserabili e poveri e ciechi e nudi, e con l'aspetto di uno spettro repellente e oppresso ci si incammina tremando attraverso una vita piena d'incubi.

Tanr?, Ben YaÅŸanan?m, dediÄŸinde bütün bu vedalaÅŸmalar?n neye dair olduÄŸunu unutmuÅŸ olaca??z.

It's all a sea, I swim out of its in the afternoons.

I looked greedily out the window: stucco houses and palms and drive-ins, the whole mad thing, the ragged promised land, the fantastic end of America.

I tingled all over; I counted minutes and subtracted miles.

I think of Dean Moriarty.

Hopping a freight out of Los Angeles at high noon one day in late September 1955 I got on a gondola and lay down with my duffel bag under my head and my knees crossed and contemplated the clouds as we rolled north to Santa Barbara.

Isn't it true that you start your life a sweet child believing in everything under your father's roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of a gruesome grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life. I stumbled haggardly out of the station; I had no more control.

There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars...

In the empty Houston streets of four o'clock in the morning a motorcycle kid suddenly roared through, all bespangled and bedecked with glittering buttons, visor, slick black jacket, a Texas poet of the night, girl gripped on his back like a papoose, hair flying, onward-going, singing, "Houston, Austin, Fort Worth, Dallas—and sometimes Kansas City—and sometimes old Antone, ah-haaaaa!" They pinpointed out of sight.

What's your road, man?—holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how?

Occasionally bums passed, Mexican mothers passed with children, and the prowl car came by and the cop got out to leak, but most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by.

We came down off this meadow down deep into a redwood forest then up again, again so steeply that we were cursing and sweating in the dust. Trails are like that: you're floating along in a Shakespearean Arden paradise and expect to see nymphs and fluteboys, then suddenly you're struggling in a hot broiling sun of hell in dust and nettles and poison oak…just like life.

What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and thry recede on the plain til you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy adventure beneath the skies.