Quotes About Journey

I love her to this day. Love of her led me to leave her. But some other kind of love, whose dimensions were beyond both description and comprehension, was fueling my feelings and moving me in directions that I hadn't anticipated. I had found love. I had lost love. Love of my calling was pushing me on.

Please, she whispered as she opened the book, please get me out of here just for an hour or so, please take me far, far away

My dear Elinor, you were obviously born into the wrong story," said Dustfinger at last.

Let's be off before he gets his great horsey teeth into my poor lines of verse!

If you take a book with you on a journey,' Mo had said when he put the first one in her box, 'an odd thing happens: the book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it.

Once upon a time...There's a reason all fairy tales begin like this. But the 'and they lived happily ever after' at the end? That has to be earned.

A story is a labyrinth, it looks as if there were several ways to go, but only one is right, and there's a nasty surprise ready to punish you for every false step.

She had only to open a door, nothing but a door between the words,just large enough for her and Farid to pass through....

What's the matter princess? Do you know the end of your story?

Stories always go on. They don't end on the last page any more than they begin on the first page

She'd been so certain she knew every crevice of his heart, but Jacob was like a country she'd only traveled through halfway.

If she'd known him better, she might've tried to explain to Will that life never lets you hide. Plant, animal, or human—life forced them all to grow and learn. The more you tried to run, the harder your path got, and you'd still have to travel it.

Unlike me, he realized that Dustfinger would do anything in return for such a promise. All he wants is to go back to his own world. He doesn't even stop to ask if his story there has a happy ending! Well, that's no different from real life, remarked Elinor gloomily. You never know if things will turn out well. Just now our own story looks like it's coming to a bad end.

Sometimes, through the window of a car coming the other way, she caught a glimpse if a stranger's face, then it was gone, like a book you open then close at once.

Das Buch wird anfangen, deine Erinnerungen zu sammeln. Du wirst es spaeter nur aufschlagen muessen und schon wirst du wieder dort sein, wo du zuerst darin gelesen hast. An nichts haften Erinnerungen so gut wie an bedruckten Seiten.

And that everyone has to find their own path, even brothers.

You're the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world's inside them...

It hadn't been easy to reach the city where Jacob had grown up. The borders in his world were more tightly guarded than the island of the Fairies.

The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

Vielleicht gehören wir alle nicht nur in eine Geschichte.

The road went ever more steeply downhill. Overhead, the branches of the trees intertwined. It was a still, windless morning, cloudy and damp.

If you take a book with you on a journey," Mo had said when he put the first one in her box, "an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while you were reading it …

Noch eind Land, das ich zum ersten Mal hinter den Spiegeln bereise. Ich kenne deine Welt so viel besser als meine. - Jacob

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any courser like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll; How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul! Emily Dickinson, The Poems of Emily Dickinson