Quotes About Journey

A thing can travel everywhere, just by holding still.

And what do all good stories do? They kill you a little. They turn you into something you weren't.

The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels.

We are not born familiar. At best, familiar waits for us down the run of years. Familiar is what he can become to her only through life. But familiar to herself, already, looking on him.

The third tree is all around you: Now. And like Now itself, it will follow wherever you go.

the endless hostage swap of travelers east and west.

La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural

felt us traveling on a small craft, piloting through the capital city of the reigning global superpower on the coast of the third largest continent of a smallish, rocky world near the inner rim of the habitable zone of a G-type dwarf star that lay a quarter of the way out to the edge of a dense, large, barred, spiral galaxy that drifted through a thinly spread local cluster in the dead center of the entire universe.

palindrome: La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural.

Back in Brooklyn, a poet-nurse to the Union dying writes: A leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.

Els had staked his life on finding that larger thing. Something magnificent and enduring hid under music's exhausted surface. Somewhere behind the familiar staff lay constellations of notes, sequences of pitches that could bring the mind home.

Utah. She has followed back roads from Las Vegas, capital of clueless sinners, toward Salt Lake, capital of cunning saints.

And then the words that would never weaken and never go away: Can you believe where we are?

whatever work your hands can do, do now, for there is no work for you in that place where you are going.

THEY SHARE A LOT, ASTRONOMY AND CHILDHOOD. Both are voyages across huge distances. Both search for facts beyond their grasp. Both theorize wildly and let possibilities multiply without limits. Both are humbled every few weeks. Both operate out of ignorance. Both are mystified by time. Both are forever starting out. For

She has followed back roads from Las Vegas, capital of clueless sinners, toward Salt Lake, capital of cunning saints.

You can travel everywhere, just by standing still.

He stands lost in the universe's weeds, hunched a little from the stronger gravity of the world he visits.

Every one of us is an experiment, and we don't even know what the experiment is testing.

Branches, combing the sun, laughing at gravity, still unfolding. Something moves at the base of the motionless trunks. Nothing. Now everything. This, a voice whispers, from very nearby. This. What we have been given. What we must earn. This will never end.

Las cosas pueden viajar a cualquier sitio; para ello, no hay más que permanecer inmóvil.

He's never really thought about the many miles a tree travels, in smallest cursive increments, each hour of every day. Forever in motion, these stationary things.

We all travel the Milky Way together, trees and men. . . . In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness

When we fail we are merely joining the great parade of humanity that has walked ahead of us and will follow after us.