Quotes About Journey

Those phone calls, those millions of words and stories, merely became the beginning of the Book of Us.

Eighty miles an hour, velocity becomes the measure of our progress, the speed of forgetting.

as the American mind moves from the imprisoning whimsy of cities through some harder-boiled practicality to the eagle flight of the West.

You could travel mile after empty mile seeing nobody, nothing—just the rugged Meseta—and then happen upon an ancient village of a hundred homes, all conjoined and crowded together, enjambed and encircling a church, a castle, each village with its Franco-era frontón, linked, for better or worse, in prayer, in drink, in song. I

Perhaps we really are surrounded by the past, made prisoners of it. No matter how far we travel, how hard we try to forget, the scarred tree forever stands by the side of the road, if only in our minds. The only way to drive by is to set the past straight, once and for all, by remembering.

Someday, of course, she would light out on her own, following her own riverbed, and though we'd follow as long as she allowed, and though we trusted she'd come and go from our lives with regularity, she would also be a half memory [...]

The best things are never arrived at in haste. God is in no hurry; His plans are never rushed.

A writer is very much like the captain on a star ship facing the unknown. When you face the blank page and you have no idea where you're going. It can be terrifying, but it can also be the adventure of a lifetime.

It's always about the human condition. Go back to that and you'll find your story.

Rush hour was under way; her car became one more pair of headlights in a glittering daisy chain of commuters.

If he only made three miles a day, so be it. Better to have those three miles behind him than ahead.

The boy came to believe that going west was more than just a fancy for someplace new. He came to see it as a part of his soul, a missing piece that could only be made whole on some far-off mountain or plain.

He came to see it as a part of his soul, a missing piece that could only be made whole on some far-off mountain or plain.

Glass had come to view the sea, which he once embraced as synonymous with freedom, as no more than the confining parameters of small ships. He resolved to turn a new direction.

His decision to go west was not rash or forced, but as fully deliberate as any choice in his life. At the same time, he could not explain or articulate his reasons. It was something that he felt more than understood.

Reaching Fort Brazeau seemed markedly anticlimactic. True, it was a milestone. Yet for Glass the fort did not mark a finish line to cross with elation, but rather a starting line to cross with resolve.

Do you believe in God?" he asks. "Do you?" "I used to" "What happened?" "I couldn't find him. He's supposed to be everywhere. I mean, he's not supposed to be playing hide-and-seek.

We need the darkness to appreciate the light, and the bumps along the road to stop us falling asleep at the wheel.

I have been visited by every shade of grief and know that it doesn't come in black or white

We should wish our children full lives, jam-packed with triumph and tragedy, boredom and excitement, beautiful, messy, passionate and worth celebrating. I

but we often meet our fate on the road we take to avoid it.

Every excursion or expedition we take is a story, an inner narrative that we sometimes don't even realise we're following.

life is about getting the next footstep right.

The real mystery of life is not a problem to be solved, it is a reality to be experienced. —J. J. Van der Leeuw