Quotes About Journey

Come along, Rufus," she said, and gave another tug. He sighed and stopped chewing the door, following Celie.

This started off as a father-daughter adventure, and it's gotten wonderfully out of hand...I'm going to fly till I die.

It's not what you know-or when you see-that matters. It's about the journey.

the children had been elaborately and painfully put to bed (there was homework to help with, night-lights to leave on, snacks to bring upstairs, as if they were being prepared for a frightening and arduous journey rather than the luxury of sleep).

We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." It's a quote from Joseph Campbell, who studied mythology to describe what it takes to be a hero. I probably got it from one of the many, many self-help books I devoured back then, underlining points and dog-earing the pages that seemed to tell me a way out. I repeated that quote to myself for weeks, in the shower, on a red carpet, driving in my car.

I'VE GROWN INTO MYSELF to understand where I'm going and what I want to do. I always knew who I was but I didn't know how to get to where I thought I needed to go in order to be "that person." I think a lot of us are intimidated by what we are called to be, but we already have everything we need in our hearts.

It is always the same. Whether you are walking or going by train, the way always seems shorter the second time than the first. (And that is true of distances that are not to be measured in miles and yards.)

Going away is not always so simple—when one takes oneself along.

I love him, his shoulders, his angular, stooping figure – and at the same time I see behind him woods and stars, and a clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, a soldier in big boots, belt, and a knapsack, taking the road that lies before him under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky.

Ljubav nije jezero u kome se uvek može ogledati... ona ima plimu i oseku i olupine i potonule gradove i bure i kov?ege sa zlatom i bisere… ali biseri su duboko...

Nachts ist man das, was man eigentlich sein soll; nicht das, was man geworden ist.

The car ran almost noiselessly. It ran as if gravity had no power over it. Houses glided past, churches, villages, the golden spots of the estaminets and bistros, a gleaming river, a mill, and then again the even contour of the plain, the sky arching above it like the inside of a huge shell in whose milky nacre shimmered the pearl of the moon.

He drove the car back through the night to Paris. The hedges and orchards of Normandy flew past him. The moon hung oval and large in the misty sky. The ship was forgotten. Only the landscape remained. The landscape, the smell of hay and ripe apples, the silence and the deep peace of the inevitable

Vienatv? ieško kelion?s draugo, neklausdama, kas jis. Kas to nesupranta, tas niekada nebuvo vienišas, o tik vienas.

Not everyone's life is like a house that belongs to him and that he can go on decorating ever more richly with the furniture of his memory. Some people live in hotels, in many hotels. The years close behind them like hotel doors— and the only thing that remains is a little courage and no regrets.

the counter of "The Bar" was the Captain's bridge of the Ship of Life, and we were set once more for the open sea.

Der Zug fährt langsam. Manchmal hält er an, und die Toten werden ausgeladen. Er hält oft.

Die Stadt war weit, fern, nur noch ein sanftes Summen am Horizont, die Kette der Stunden war losgehakt, und die Zeit war so lautlos, als stände sie still.

Some fo too late and some go too early. [...] Go at the right time - thus spake Zarathustra.

Man lives, you're right! Whoever seeks further is already lost.

Cilv?ks vienm?r un visur ir non?cis gal?. Laiks ir aizspriedums. Tas ir dz?ves nosl?pums. Tikai m?s to nezin?m. M?s vienm?r tiecamies kaut kur non?kt.

The noises from outside all merge into one another, become a dream which disappears from the waking memory...he sees the woods and stars behind him, and so he moves on, an ordinary soldier, with his big boots and his webbing and his pack, making his tiny way under the sky's great vault along the road that lies before him; a soldier who forgets things quickly and who isn't even depressed much any more, but who just goes onwards under the great night sky.

There is the great sky again, and the stars, and the first streak of dawn, and he is walking beneath that sky, a soldier with big boots and a full belly, a little soldier in the early morning.

Via?a era vaporul din port, care nu mergea spre infinit...