Quotes About Journey

Then, on March 9, they felt the swell—the undeniable, unmistakable rise and fall of the ocean.

Land in sight! Land in sight!

It lay exactly 42 miles away; only 20 miles beyond it lay what had been their destination, Paulet Island.

Hurriedly they ran up every sail to its full height and headed for the narrow opening in the reefs.

She sailed from London's East India Docks on August 1.

Then they came about once more onto the starboard tack. This time she just managed to slip through.

And o'er the hills and far awayBeyond their utmost purple rim,Beyond the night, across the day,Through all the world she followed him.

Much have I seen and known; cities of menAnd manners, climates, councils, governments,Myself not least, but honor'd of them all;And drunk delight of battle with my peers,Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.I am a part of all that I have met;Yet all experience is an arch wherethroughGleams that untravel'd world.

From the great deep to the great deep he goes.

All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.

I hope to see my Pilot face to faceWhen I have crossed the bar.

The great world's altar-stairs,That slope through darkness up to God.

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.

You know," he went on almost under his breath, "every man who thinks for himself and feels vividly finds he lives in a world of his own, apart, and believes that one day he'll come across, either in a book or in a person, the Priest who shall make it clear to him.

To call away someone," he went on in the same thrilling voice, "someone who is not quite ready to come, but who is needed elsewhere for a worthier purpose.

No place worth knowing yields itself at sight, and those the least inviting on first view may leave the most haunting pictures upon the walls of memory.

Save his own soul's light overhead, None leads him, and none ever led, Across birth's hidden harbour-bar, Past youth where shoreward shallows are, Through age that drives on toward the red Vast void of sunset hailed from far, To the equal waters of the dead; Save his own soul he hath no star, And sinks, except his own soul guide, Helmless in middle turn of tide.

That no life lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

People in this world are like travelers whose journey is going on though they are asleep. ( Life's journey is going on though men may not feel it ).

All short stories long.

But that's summer for you. Summer's like walking down a road just like this one, heading towards both light and dark. Because summer isn't just a merry tale. Because there's no merry tale without darkness.

Imagine if people decided at birth never ever to throw away any of the shoes they wore over the whole course of a life, and had a special cupboard where they kept all these old shoes they'd walked about the world in. What would there be in such a shoe museum, when you opened its doors? Row upon row, perfectly preserved, the exact shapes we took at certain points in our lives? Or row upon row, rack upon rack, of nothing but old soiled leather, old stale smell?

Seems the self you get left with on the shore, in the end, is the self that you were when you went.

It's why he'd got off the train here: the train had pulled towards this station and there'd been something clean about the mountains, clean like swept clean. They had something about them that accepted the fact of themselves, demanded nothing. They just were.