Quotes About Journey

Patricia B. McConnell

I've embarked on personal adventures with each of these quilts. I want to teach you how to do the same.

We have made the perilous journey through the tunnels to see the Princess Cimorene, newly come to these caverns, to comfort her and together bemoan our sad and sorry fates," the first princess said haughtily. "Tell her we are here." "I'm Cimorene," Cimorene said. "I don't need comforting, and I'm not particularly sad or sorry to be here, but if you'd like to come in and have some tea, you're welcome to." The

Smiling, I picked up the other two bundles and followed happily after.

We have made the perilous journey through the caves to see the princess Cimorene, newly come to these caverns, to comfort her and together bemoan our sad and sorry fate," the first princess said haughtily. "Tell her we are here." "I'm Cimorene," Cimorene said. "I don't need comforting, and I'm not particularly sad or sorry to be here, but if you'd like to come in and have some tea, you're welcome.

Individually we have ever-increasing freedom to choose our own path on life's journey.

Life is a journey. A hopeless cliché. But not its fault. Cliché is the fate of every fully absorbed truth. The stars, for example, do look like diamonds. You just can't say so.

But by the time you've worked long enough, hard enough, Real Life (which insists on being capitalized as if it were a personage with a proper name and a right to barge into this rental unit called your life) begins to reveal itself as something other than effort, other than accomplishment. Real Life wishes to be left to its own purposeless devices.

We must set out, often without a destination, with only the instinct to search as a direction. Literature and religion are predicated on the notion of journey, movement—pilgrimage it's called in religion, plot in literature.

Because of sorrow, my awareness of life's pulse is strongly detectable. It is syncopation while I journey, a lap of ocean in the eyes of every person I meet. This awareness informs the flesh of my stories. Grief has been an odd companion, at first a terror, but now I am all the better having accepted it for its intrinsic worth.

The confessional writer will treat her story like a wailing wall. She kneels, and her story spills out, messy, improper. It isn't a protest or even graffiti, but her story is an offering of things that she overlooked or notices that others have overlooked. She is in danger of exposure but she remembers when she lived in hiding and that was worse. She cannot turn back now because this is how life has spun out of her, part vexing passage and part prayer.

The central character is an incomplete package of yearning that takes the length of the novel to complete. Completion, though, is not to be confused with perfection.

It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell.

Well, I guess that;s a good move, you asking everyone 'cause I might not've come if it were just you and me." He takes his eyes off the road right when I take a look at him and he's got this big smirky smile on his face. I laugh and say, "Maybe you had better watch the road.

Everything you've longed for "out there" is already within you. The path to authenticity travels through your own heart, mind, body, and spirit.

A woman discovers the way home to herself in a quiet descent into the richness of her own life. In the descent, she reunites with her essential self and natural resources.

Our search for a God who looks like us begins in our own lives. She will be found there.

You have a story in there, Lucy," she said, touching my head. "Or a character, a place, a poem, a moment in time. When you find it, you will write it. Word after word after word after word," she whispered.

Life is not a straight line, she said. And sometimes we circle back to a past time. But we are not the same. We are changed forever.

I will come by train. I will wear a yellow bonnet. I am plain and tall.

What is perfect? Journey, a thing doesn't have to be perfect to be fine. That goes for a picture. That goes for life....Things can be good enough.

Patricia McLinn

All stories are true. The truth is the journey you take from it - did it make you laugh, cry, or seek and want justice? Then it's true.

You're Joe Spain's beautiful daughter. That's why you came back home- to finally discover every part of that truth.