Quotes About Journey

Always watch where you are going. Otherwise, you may step on a piece of the Forest that was left out by mistake.

As soon as I saw you I knew a grand adventure was about to happen.

By the time it came to the edge of the Forest, the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and, being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, "There is no hurry. We shall get there some day." But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to find out before it was too late.

Walking with her man, Lost in a dream

so they went off together but where ever they go and whatever happens to themon the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest a little boy and his bear will always be playing.

No one can tell me, Nobody knows, Where the wind comes from, Where the wind goes. It's flying from somewhere As fast as it can, I couldn't keep up with it, Not if I ran. But if I stopped holding The string of my kite, It would blow with the wind For a day and a night. And then when I found it, Wherever it blew, I should know that the wind Had been going there too. So then I could tell them Where the wind goes... But where the wind comes from Nobody knows.

If you were a bird, and lived on high, You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by, You'd say to the wind when it took you away: "That's where I wanted to go today!

No one can tell me, Nobody knows, Where the wind comes from, Where the wind goes.

I always get to where I'm going by walking away from where I have been." ~Winnie the Pooh

He would not stay for me, and who can wonder? He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder, And went with half my life about my ways.

From far, from eve and morning And yon twelve-winded sky, The stuff of life to knit me Blew hither: here am I. Now--for a breath I tarry Nor yet disperse apart-- Take my hand quick and tell me, What have you in your heart. Speak now, and I will answer; How shall I help you, say; Ere to the wind's twelve quarters I take my endless way.

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

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

Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are fluttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go. O never fear, lads, naught's to dread, Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night.

Wanderers eastward, wanderers west, Know you why you cannot rest? 'Tis that every mother's son Travails with a skeleton. Lie down in the bed of dust; Bear the fruit that bear you must; Bring the eternal seed to light, And morn is all the same as night.

It's a long ride home with nothing but me for company. I bore myself sometimes. Not often. Just now and again.

I set an essay . . . 'Give a snail's description from the front door to the school gate.

Travelling in one direction. Yearning to be going the other way. She has lived here. She will survive there.

On our way home we throw the apples, the biscuits, the chocolate and the coins in the tall grass by the roadside. It is impossible to throw away the stroking on our hair

Tek bir iste?im vard?: Gitmek, yürümek ya da ölmek, umurumda de?ildi. Uzakla?mak istiyordum, kaybolmak, ormanda ve bulutlarda eriyip gitmek, hat?rlamamak, unutmak, unutmak.

Cuando el tren empezó a moverse y a salir de la estación, me asomé a la ventanilla. Pero no miré atrás, sino adelante. Como debe ser. En los viajes, lo mismo que en la vida, nunca hay que mirar al furgón de cola donde llevamos el equipaje del pasado, sino a la locomotora que nos conduce al porvenir. (Aunque parezca que este pensamiento lo he robado de la hoja de un calendario, juro que se me ha ocurrido a mí. Por si acaso.) (P. 192).

We might go in your umbrella

So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

Existence is strife." "To strive is to live.