Quotes About Journey

Para viajar lejos, no hay mejor nave que un libro.

We never know we go,—when we are going We jest and shut the door; Fate following behind us bolts it, And we accost no more.

I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea, And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie.

We journey to the day, And tell each other how we sang To keep the dark away.

A not admitting of the wound Until it grew so wide That all my Life had entered it

Where Thou art - that - is Home.

My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -

I sing to use the waiting, My bonnet but to tie, And shut the door unto my house; No more to do have I, Till, his best step approaching, We journey to the day, And tell each other how we sang To keep the dark away.

There are depths in every Consciousness, from which we cannot rescue ourselves - to which none can go with us.

In a Life that stopped guessing, you and I should not feel at home

Experiment escorts us last- His pungent company will not allow an axiom An opportunity

For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.

This world is not conclusion. A species stands beyond - Invisible, as Music - But positive as Sound

Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.

There is nothing more fugal than a book to take you to different lands

Dich hab ich nicht erreicht- Doch nähert Tag für Tag Sich dir mein Fuß Drei Flüsse noch und ein Berg Ich überqueren muss. Noch Eine Wüste, noch ein Meer, Die Reise aber zähl ich nicht, Wenn ich dann vor Dir steh. Wir schreiten leicht, wie Schnee wir stehen, die Wasser murmeln leis. Flüsse, Wüsten, Berg und Meer sind von uns durchlaufen. Doch Tod entreißt mir meinen Preis, Dich schauend, er gewinnt.

Home is so far from home.

To wander now is my abode; To rest,—to rest would be A privilege of hurricane To memory and me.

The Babies we were are buried, and their shadows are plodding on.

Non esiste un vascello veloce come un libro per portarci in terre lontane.

Down Time's quaint stream Without an oar, We are enforced to sail, Our Port—a secret— Our Perchance—a gale. What Skipper would Incur the risk, What Buccaneer would ride, Without a surety from the wind Or schedule of the tide?

Emerging from an Abyss and entering it again—that is Life, is it not?

Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality.