Quotes About Journey

I wish we all didn't have a story. –Karen

My journey was like the one in the book. That is the thing about books. You take their journeys with you. You came home with something more than just the remains of a fish. The book was never about the fish.

You can take a road that gets you to the stars, I can take a road that will see me through.

By the time I make my way to the border of Mauritania, to the edge of the Sahara, I see no end to being lost. You can spend your entire life simply falling in that direction. It isn't a station you reach but just the general state of going down. Once you make it back, if you make it back, you will stand before your long-lost friends but in some essential way they will no longer know you.

I have plenty of places to go, but no place to be.

I believe, do you know, we never stop being what we were, young. We don't shed the young self, we just put on other skins, one cover after another, but somewhere in us is still the self we were before we fell, before we started covering ourselves. And all the rest of our lives, we're trying to go back, we're looking for it, what we lost.

I've got to keep moving somewhere. I've written some of my best songs on the move, driving on a long journey, scribbling lyrics on cigarette packets while steering. I like that style,

In a sense, it's all about running away. I've been running all my life. Where I'm going … Who the fuck knows? But that's not the point. The point is just to see how long you can keep going strong. And right now there is no end. The way I feel now, I can keep going for a long time.

Matter signals to its lost voyagers, telling them that their quest is vain, and that their homeland already lies in ashes behind them.

You scrape away your face and step into the dark...

We are all matelots of perception – our sails adjusted consequently.

She accepted the mantle of the uncanny and until the end of this journey it was her fate. It was her vision they marched to, into a future she had dreamt for them.

Your humble correspondent bids you to remember the road to Lindum and our conversation about the brightest bead of all. He is everywhere.

She walked on the wave of sound the length of the tables and back up again until she stood before Edwin, on the other side of the board.

Tomorrow I'd start learning this city the way I liked best, by moving through it.

I don't want to be Marghe the anthopologist who examines seashells on the beach and moves on. I don't think I am her anymore. But I don't know who I want to be.

One day, to suit some purpose of their own, her mother or her uncle would pluck her from her life and send her to live in a fen with a man she didn't know. In the world of skirt and sword, it was part of her wyrd. But not all her wyrd, and not yet. There was so much to learn, so much to know.

We're like the moths," Begu said. "The priests and Uinniau and Cian are like bats. When we go back to York, we'll have to stop, lie down, for a while.

Light of the world. This was what she knew. This was who she was. Her wyrd had been before she was. She chose this path, this place, because she had always chosen.

The king and Osric had vanished, gone ahead around the curve, and Hild walked alone-they all walked alone-along the inwardly spiralling path painted with tales, the characters from songs she had heard in hall all her life, songs of music and magic, of heroes and beginnings.

In the wild waste, a girl, growing.

All their memories interlock and look down the same path to the same places. Each memory reflects another, repeats, reinforces until the known becomes the only.

Peretur rode now through lands abandoned by people and sharp with the scent of vinegar where apples, unpicked, had fallen and rotted in the grass.

Hild, on the first boat with Eorpald and Edwin, smelt it before she saw it: the old, cold scent of deep, turned dirt; the smell of bones.