Quotes About Journey

Joseph Campbell

É descendo até o abismo que recuperamos os tesouros da vida. Onde voce tropeça, ali está seu tesouro.

Joseph Campbell

Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. Thevery cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for. The damned thing in thecave, that was so dreaded, has become the center.

The passage to fulfillment lies between the perils of desire and fear.

A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder. Fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won.

To evolve out of this position of psychological immaturity to the courage of self-responsibility and assurance requires a death and a resurrection. That's the basic motif of the universal hero's journey—leaving one condition and finding the source of life to bring you forth into a richer or mature condition.

Great is the gate and narrow is the way which leadeth to life, and few there be who find it." And

And so it happens that if anyone…undertakes for himself the perilous journey into the darkness by descending, either intentionally or unintentionally, into the crooked lanes of his own spiritual labyrinth, he soon finds himself in a landscape of symbolical figures (any one of which may swallow him).

What I think is that a good life is one hero journey after another. Over and over again, you are called to the realm of adventure, you are called to new horizons. Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, in the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss.

At first as they stumped along the path which edged the Hundred Acre Wood, they didn't say much to each other; but when they came to the stream, and had helped each other across the stepping stones, and were able to walk side by side again over the heather, they began to talk in a friendly way ...

Halfway down the stairs, is a stair, where I sit. There isn't any, other stair, quite like, it. I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top; So this is the stair, where, I always, stop. Halfway up the stairs, isn't up, and isn't down. It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town. And all sorts of funny thoughts, run round my head: It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!

Gone out. Backson. Busy backson.

When you get to my age life seems little more than one long march to and from the lavatory.

All the best stories are but one story in reality--the story of escape. It is the only thing which interests us all and at all times, how to escape.

I could walk forever and a mile with one beautiful girl.

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;Breath's a ware that will not keep.Up, lad: when the journey's overThere'll be time enough to sleep.

In all the endless road you treadThere's nothing but the night.

See, the way I got it figured, dying is sort'a like the thing that gives your life meaning. You may not want to get there, but, without it, you're just looking at a long, long road to nowhere.

Life isn't about the things you can't have... It is about those blessings you do find along the way.

Even if you walk exactly the same route each time - as with a sonnet - the events along the route cannot be imagined to be the same from day to day, as the poet's health, sight, his anticipations, moods, fears, thoughts cannot be the same.

I've given you my emptiness: it may not be unlike your emptiness: in voyages, there are wide reaches of water with no islands:

To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing: to lose the life you have, for greater life: to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving, to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth— —Whereon the pillars of this earth are founded, toward which the conscience of the world is tending—a wind is rising, and the rivers flow.