Quotes About Journey

If you really want to find your voice, your goal is to journey toward inner wholeness--which is what life is about anyway. It involves self-acceptance and genuine self-respect. from Unleash the Writer Within

Anche se non abbiamo modo di decidere dove la strada della vita deve portarci, possiamo stabilire dove poggiare i piedi e cosa guardare lungo il percorso.

È sempre stato così, in tutti i miei viaggi: sono sempre un perdente, perché mi attacco troppo alle cose, o alle persone, e cosi il viaggio non è più un viaggio, ma un ripetuto addio Ho passato il tempo a dire addio e a ricordare, e a raccogliere indirizzi nelle mie agendine come piccole lapidi.

E la strada è inquietudine, sempre e comunque, perché non c'è dubbio che ho capito male la vita e l'ho coltivata ancor peggio, ma tanto, mio caro, il risultato è lo stesso.

Ik had wel duizend levens en ik nam er maar één.

En doordat ik met haar ben meegegaan, heb ik gezien hoe haar gezicht veranderde.

Ik heb het ongelukkige karakter van iemand die altijd achter de volgende heuvel wil kijken, en die nog steeds niet geleerd heeft dat daarachter weer een andere heuvel ligt.

Wij zijn begonnen, wij zullen eindigen, en daartussen bestaan we, het heelal net zo goed als een geranium.

Sometime on the far side of never.

She understands. There is nowhere to go but on. Still, part of her longs to go back

His life had been divided into a before and an after, and he would always be comparing the two.

and Mia realized that she was crossing into a place she would have to go alone.

She drove on into the night, homeward, her hair weeping tiny slow streams down her back.

as if home had never been a place, but had always been this little person whom she'd carried alongside her.

There is nowhere to go but on.

But I didn't know where she was going, Hannah whispers into the dark. I didn't know she was really going anywhere.

Mac's Backs supplied him with well-worn copies of On the Road and Dharma Bums, the poems of Frank O'Hara and Rainer Maria Rilke and Pablo Neruda,

Found and lost and found again, lost in plain sight, pressed to his back, her feet clasped in his hands. What made something precious? Losing it and finding it.

Even her beloved Warren gave up at that point -- "I don't need to know how it works, Mi," he told her at last, "I just want to see the pictures" -- and Mia realized that she was crossing into a place she would have to go alone.

database at Ellis Island

She knew at last where everything had gone wrong. And she knew where she had to go.

As he walks, a smattering of memories flare at each step, small bright stones lighting a path through the forest. There is the

Yawning gaps of time when she could have been anywhere, doing anything.

There is so much more to do, so much yet to be mended.