Quotes About Journey

Is death being on a ship sailing and all your folks left back on the shore?

Montag looked at the river. We'll go on the river. He looked at the old railroad tracks. Or we'll go that way. Or we'll walk on the highways now, and we'll have time to put things into ourselves. And someday, after it sets in us a long time, it'll come out our hands and our mouths. And a lot of it will be wrong, but just enough of it will be right.

I have spent my life going from mania to mania. Somehow it has all paid off.

We all made the right kind of mistakes, or we wouldn't be here. -Guy Montag

We carry our homes in our heads.

This car," he said, "somewhere along the way does it turn into a plane?" "I don't know," I said. "Somewhere along the way do you turn into my pilot?" "It could be. I've never done this before." "But you're willing to try?" I nodded.

Life is short, misery sure, mortality certain. But on the way, in your work, why not carry those two inflated pig-bladders labeled Zest and Gusto.

Nunca volveré a tener más dudas, pues esta verdad es tan cierta como la verdad de la tierra, y ambas concuerdan entre sí. Iremos a otros mundos , y sumaremos las distintas fracciones de la verdad hasta que el total se alce ante nosotros como la luz de un nuevo día.

There, on the world's rim, the lovely snail gleam of the railway tracks ran, flinging wild gesticulations of lemon or cherry-colored semaphore to the stars.

Realice su propia labor salvadora, y si se ahoga, muera, por lo menos, sabiendo que se dirigía hacia la playa.

lui doveva andarsene, uscire, respirare l'aria libera della notte, conoscere le libere acque della notte che correvano verso mari più grandi e più liberi.

I've been a fool all down the line. I can't stay long. I'm on my way God knows where." "At least you were a fool about the right things

Before the bus had run another fifty yards on the highway, its destination would be meaningless, and its point of departure changed from metropolis to junkyard.

I like to watch people. Sometimes I ride the subway all day and look at them and listen to them. I just want to figure out who they are and what they want and where they're going.

You're very tired, he said. You've traveled a long way and you belong to a tired people who've been without faith a long time, and you want to believe so much now that you're interfering with yourself. You'll only make it harder if you kill. You'll never find him that way.

You don't have to move, do you? On occasion, maybe, like tonight. But mostly you travel back and forth between your ears.

If anything is taught here, it is simply the charting of the life of someone who started out to somewhere—and went. I have not so much thought my way through life as done things and found what it was and who I was after the doing. Each tale was a way of finding selves. Each self found each day slightly different from the one found twenty-four hours later.

And the trip? Exactly one half terror, exactly one half exhilaration.

Borracho de vida, y sin conocer el rumbo siguiente. Pero antes del amanecer uno ya está en marcha. ¿Y el viaje? Exactamente la mitad terror, la mitad júbilo.

I've heard there are still hobo camps all across the country, here and there; walking camps they call them, and if you keep walking far enough and keep an eye peeled, they say there's lots of old Harvard degrees on the tracks between here and Los Angeles.

The men of Earth came to Mars.

And this disease was called The Loneliness, because when you saw your home town dwindle to the size of your fist and then lemon-size and then pin-size and vanish in the fire-wake, you felt you had never been born, there was no town, you were nowhere, with space all around, nothing familiar, only other strange men.

They came because they were afraid or unafraid, because they were happy or unhappy, because they felt like Pilgrims or did not feel like Pilgrims. There was a reason for each man.

Even now he could feel the start of the long journey, the leave taking, the going away from the self he had been.