Quotes About Journey

Have you forgotten yourself enough to come with me?

up we ascend past the constellations of dawn

I am someone who couldn't find her place

I'm alone as usual impossibly nowhere or right here. I walked a path, formerly.

Fate started here.

Deeper and deeper. No more lyric po- ems or love affairs.

When my death comes I'll have nearly been the one.

O mapa é um diagrana de sentido/propósito disposto no espaço-tempo.

What I love is one foot in front of another. South-south-west and down the contours. I go slipping between Black Ridge and White Horse Hill into a bowl of the moor where echoes can't get out listen a lark spinning around one note splitting and mending it and I find you in the reeds, a trickle coming out of a bark, a foal of a river

beautiful disused route to the sea fish path with nearly no fish in

cold nights without streetlights walking to the sea perhaps

three people in raincoats losing their tracks in the snow walking as far as the edge and back again with the trees exhausted tapping at the sky

Life plots elegantly.

To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasant sensations in the world. You are surrounded by adventure. You have no idea of what is in store for you, but you will, if you are wise and know the art of travel, let yourself go on the stream of the unknown and accept whatever comes in the spirit in which the gods may offer it.

After all, the word "travel" comes from the Latin "trepalium." Which, loosely translated, means "instrument of torture.

This is a great moment, when you see, however distant, the goal of your wandering. The thing which has been living in your imagination suddenly becomes a part of the tangible world. It matters not how many ranges, rivers or parching dusty ways may lie between you; it is yours now for ever." It

Sometimes it was hard for me to connect the boy I knew—the skinny smart kid who collected lead soldiers and pursued Boy Scout merit badges—with the phenomenally successful man he'd become. But sooner or later, when we were together, some remark would inevitably trigger childhood memories and then we'd be off, zipping down a path that existed now only for the two of us.

Wherever I have knocked, a door has opened. Wherever I have wandered, a path has appeared.

In search of my mother's garden, I found my own.

In search of my mother's garden, I found my own.

Jesus appears to have walked unstressed and unhurried. His peaceful pace seems to imply that he measured himself not by where he was going and how fast he could get there but by whom he was following and how closely they walked together.

Christian spirituality is not a life project for becoming a better person." —EUGENE PETERSON

more of a sojourn. A sojourn is a "temporary stay at a place."4 And a "stay" is about presence, not productivity.

Jesus appears to have walked unstressed and unhurried. His peaceful pace seems to imply that he measured himself not by where he was going and how fast he could get there but by whom he was following and how closely they walked together. Patience grows well in such soil. She is the ally of a soul that makes God its primary pursuit, because in this journey called life, regardless of the scenery, such a soul is deeply contented in the Company.