Quotes About Journey

Sometimes a slave will be lost in a brief eddy of liberation.

Lumbly'nin sözleri yeniden akl?na geldi: 'Bu ülkenin nas?l bir yer olduÄŸunu öÄŸrenmek istiyorsan?z demiryolunu kullan?n derim ben hep. H?zla giderken d??ar? bakarsan?z, Amerika'n?n gerçek yüzünü görürsünüz.' Åžaka yapm??t? adam, demek ki. Yolculuklar? s?ras?nda pencereden bak?nca yaln?zca karanl??? görmüÅŸtü Cora, hep de öyle olacakt?.

Who are you after you finish something this magnificent—in constructing it you have also journeyed through it, to the other side.

If you want to see what this nation is all about, I always say, you have to ride the rails. Look outside as you speed through, and you'll find the true face of America.

En tanke bredte sig i hende som en skygge: at denne station ikke var den første på linjen, men dens endestation. Jernbanen var ikke begyndt under huset her, men i den anden ende af det sorte hul. Som om der ikke var nogen steder i verden, man kunne flygte til, kun steder, man kunne flygte fra.

When you talk about this trip, and you will, because it was quite a journey and you witnessed many things, there were ups and downs, sudden reversals of fortune and last-minute escapes, it was really something, you will see your friends nod in recognition.

It was where we mingled with who we had been and who we would be. Sharing space with our echoes out in the sun.

It was the last time he raised his hand. The way he saw it, living taught you that you didn't have to live the way you'd been taught to live. You came from one place but more important was where you decided to go.

The person we know at first, she thinks, is not the one we know at last.

It struck me that distant cities are designed precisely so you can know where you came from.

Memory has a heavy backspin, yet it's still impossible to land exactly where we took off.

Things in life have no real beginning, though our stories about them always do.

The tunnels of our lives connect, coming to daylight at the oddest moments, and then plunge us into the dark again. We return to the lives of those who have gone before us, a perplexing möbius strip until we come home, eventually, to ourselves.

What was a life anyway? An accumulation of small shelves of incident.

We stumble on, thinks Jaslyn, bring a little noise into the silence, find in others the ongoing of ourselves. It is almost enough.

C'è chi pensa che l'amore sia la fine della strada, e che se si è abbastanza fortunati da trovarlo ci si ferma lì. Altri dicono che è come un burrone nel quale si precipita. Ma chiunque abbia vissuto almeno un po' sa che muta con il passare dei giorni, e secondo l'energia che gli si dedica, lo si conserva o ci si aggrappa, oppure lo si perde, ma a volte capita che non sia nemmeno mai stato lì, sin dall'inizio.( Questo bacio vada al mondo intero)

She had told Jaslyn once that everyone knows where they are from when they know where it is they want to be buried.

The point of flight. To get rid of oneself. That was reason enough to fly.

There is something that happens to the mind in moments of terror. Perhaps we figure it's the last we'll ever have and we record it for the rest of our long journey. We take perfect snapshots an album to despair over. We trim the edges and place them in plastic. We tuck the scrapbook away to take out in our ruined times.

A writer is an explorer. She knows she wants to get somewhere, but she doesn't know if the somewhere even exists yet. It is still to be created. A Galápagos of the imagination. A whole new theory of who we are. Don

It struck me that distant cities are designed precisely so you can know where you came from. We bring home with us when we leave. Sometimes it becomes more acute for the fact of having left.

If you are wise you step through the darkness only one foot at a time.

We return to the lives of those who have gone before us, a perplexing mobius strip, until we come home, eventually, to ourselves.

I guess I've always known that it's hard to be just one person. The key is in the door and it can always be opened.