Quotes About Journey

have an affinity for choosing the tightrope walk across the abyss and have developed a genius for the wrong turn.

Death lives in each one of us and begins its countdown on our birthdays and makes its rough entrance at the last hour and the perfect time.

La raison d'être du monde est d'être source d'expériences multiples et d'ainsi nous mener ultimement à la libération.

For those who have an intense urge for Spirit and wisdom, it sits near them, waiting.

The moon grew full, then slowly pared itself down until it shriveled into a ghostly boat riding above the roiling dark. Then it fell out of the sky. They climbed into it, left land behind, and floated out to sea.

Every moment is like a wheel with a hundred spokes in it. We ride always at the hub of the wheel and go forward as it turns. We ignore the array of other moments constantly turning around us. We are surrounded by doorways; we never open them.

He could pick my heart like a rose and watch it wither in his hand. Sometimes I think he is like that. At other times I think he is as simple and golden and generous as our father's fields. And then I see things in his eyes - things that I have never looked at, and I know that I have walked a short and easy road out of my past, while he has walked a thousand roads to meet me. I know Perrin's past; the same road runs into his future. I don't know Corbet.

I need you." "You must be careful," he whispered. "You must be so careful. Every need is a path to her.

Like water, tales find their own paths; they go where they are needed.

She realized something then that made her stumble a step. All along her way, there had been candles lit, random and unobtrusive. Had she, she wondered in that instant, simply chosen the path that she could best see? Or was someone ahead anticipating her, lighting candles to guide her way?

The journey was more important than the place; most important was to return home, with crumpled maps, salt and pepper shakers shaped like clam shells, a sweatshirt with whales on it, and be able to say: I have been there, I have gone on a journey, I have come safely home.

You have a name and a destiny. I can only believe that sooner or later you will stumble across some hope.

We are all emigrants from the same country — the land of childhood. What I want to do is write about the journey all of us have taken — or are in the process of taking — from that special place.

Carol raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Therese smiled because the gesture was Carol, and it was Carol she loved and would always love. Oh, in a different way now, because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was still Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell.

Though all we have known is only a beginning.

Oh, in a different way now, because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was still Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell.

The train tore along with an angry, irregular rhythm.

I am the forever-seeking.

Grief is a strange journey. Each time we embark upon it, it is as though we have never taken its roads before. No, I have that wrong: each grief brings us through a familiar landscape carved into unrecognizable contours. For we do not only lose another person; we lose the person we were with the one we lost.

He had further narrowed his mind by a considerable amount of travel abroad, where he had again always made his way to the small hotels.

The Chinese have a proverb pregnant with the age-old wisdom of the Orient: 'He who treads softly goes far.

I set out on my trip, imbued with the spirit of old Omar: Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

a vida é como um livro a cujo fim você não quer chegar. Talvez isso seja verdade, mas você está realmente interessado na leitura ou apenas com medo de que algo ruim lhe aconteça caso chegue à última página?

He who treads softly goes far.