Quotes About Journey

I shall start at the beginning. Though of course, the beginning is never where you think it is.

Along the borders of this world lie others. There are places you can cross. This is one such place.

Tributaries A river on a map is a simple thing. Our river starts at Trewsbury Mead, and follows a course of some two hundred and thirty-six miles to reach the sea at Shoeburyness. But anyone who takes the trouble to follow its route, whether by boat or on foot, cannot help being aware that, furlong by furlong, singleness of direction is not its most obvious feature. En route the river does not seem particularly intent on reaching its destination. Instead it winds its way

Again she missed God. She had shared everything with him. From childhood she had gone to him with every question, doubt, delight, and triumph. He had accompanied every advance in her thinking; in action he had been her daily collaborator. But God was gone. This was something she was going to have to work out by herself.

We live like latecomers at the theatre; we must catch up as best we can, dividing the beginning from the shape of later events.

We live like latecomers to the theater; we must catch up as best we can, divining the begging from the shape of later events.

Tú estás viva; pero estar viva no es lo mismo que vivir.

Death and memory are meant to work together. Sometimes something gets stuck and then people need a guide or companion in grief.

The Thames that goes north, south, east, and west, to finally go east, that seeps to one side and the other as it moves forward, that goes slow as it goes fast, that evaporates into the sky whilst meandering to the sea, is more about motion than about beginnings. If it has a beginning, it is located in a dark inaccessible place. Better study where it goes than where it comes from.

Everybody has a story

They sat on the bank. It was better to tell such stories close to the river than in a drawing room. Words accumulate indoors, trapped by walls and ceilings. The weight of what has been said can lie heavily on what might yet be said and suffocate it. By the river the air carries the story on a journey: one sentence drifts away and makes room for the next.

side by side, together and miles apart, we are deep in our books.

When the time was right he would run away—and be part of the story.

He knows what reading is. How it takes you.

By the time we wake up to ourselves, we are little children, and our advent is something that happened an eternity ago, at the beginning of time. We live like latecomers at the theater; we must catch up as best we can, divining the beginning from the shape of later events.

then into a space where there seemed to be nothing but mist. When we came to a wall of yew twice as high as Aurelius himself, we followed it. I noticed a sparkling in the grass and on the leaves: The sun had come out. The moisture in the air began to evaporate and the circle of visibility grew wider by the minute. Our wall of yew had led us full circle around an empty space; we had arrived back at the same walkway we had entered by.

And now, dear reader, the story is over. It is time for you to cross the bridge once more and return to the world you came from. This river, which is and is not the Thames, must continue flowing without you. You have haunted here long enough, and besides, surely you have rivers of your own to attend to?

Looking back along my morning's route, I can see the trail roller-coasting past estuaries and inlets, snaking its way along the meandering coastline.

God loves us as we are, but He also loves. ... God doesn't care what roads we've traveled, only that our roads turn to Him.

The day after that, the task unit and their single Bandito Platoon squad mustered at the North Island Naval Air Station for the flight that would take them west, halfway around the world. Actually

The writer of a personal essay does not begin with an idea and then struggle to prove her point; she investigates, keeps an open mind, goes wherever the thought may lead, and, in fact, may end the essay having still not reached a final conclusion.

a boat, even a wrecked and wretched boat still has all the possibilities of moving

Cities collect people, stray and lost and deliberate arrivants.

I run each morning, two, three, sometimes four kilometers. Part of March, all of April, all of May. I can't run five. I am eating up kilometers on my way to where it is always twilight. I am running out of this world.