Quotes About Journey

We often mistake the journey of healing as one that covers over a wound. But as wounds need air and light to knit and heal, our pain and sorrow need to be brought out into the open so we can be healed by life

Perhaps one of the hardest remedies to accept for our pain of becoming is that wherever we are in our path—no matter how flawed or incomplete—is a blossoming unto itself.

Wisdom tells me I am nothing. Love tells me I am everything. And between the two my life flows. —NISARGADATTA MAHARAJ

Whatever our path, whatever the color or grain of our days, whatever riddles we must solve to stay alive, the secret of life somehow always has to do with the awakening and freeing of what has been asleep.

So long as you haven't experienced this: to die and so to grow, you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth. —GOETHE

It took me some time to withstand his judgment and his pity, but I looked at him across the night and kept breathing deeply through the break in my heart. In daily ways, we are judged, discounted, and even pitied for glories that only we can affirm. In the end, life is too magnificent and difficult for us to give away our elemental place in the journey.

It doesn't have to be pretty or smart, just honest and true. For many a dance starts with a trip, and many a song finds its opening through a cough.

As soon as we are born, we are part of an endless search that really goes nowhere.

We tend to make the thing in the way the way.

Of course, there will always be times that we need to find our very precise way. But more often than not, our image of a destination is only a starting point that we cling to needlessly. When we can free up our sense of needing to arrive in a certain place, we lessen the weight of being lost. And once beneath arriving and beneath our fear of failing to arrive, the real journey begins.

We're drawn to live in the world until the fire within meets the fire without. We're drawn to move through all the invisible barriers to find what we love, to love what we love, and to save what we love. The inevitable journey of being spirit on Earth is to love things dearly enough that in time we become a nameless part of what we love. Until we're left with the noble effort to voice and affirm what we touch and know when closest to life, for as long as we can.

An unread book is a world unexplored

Reading is the parent of fine writing. It fosters familiarity with the written word & sets the template for a writer's journey ~ Mark Rubinstein

Given the state of airlines and airports these days, I travel extensively by opening a book.

A reader wants, above all, to feel a range of emotions--excitement, love, hate, misery, and everything in between them; wants to breathe characters' air & see the world through their eyes.

I want to take my readers on a ride, but, in the end, I want to throw them from the carriage.

No ship can out sail death

You quit your house and country, quit your ship, and quit your companions in the tent, saying, "I am just going outside and may be some time." The light on the far side of the blizzard lures you. You walk, and one day you enter the spread heart of silence, where lands dissolve and seas become vapor and ices sublime under unknown stars. This is the end of the Via Negativa, the lightless edge where the slopes of knowledge dwindle, and love for its own sake, lacking an object, begins.

Our life seems cursed to be a wiggle merely, and a wandering without end.

What limpid lakes and cool date palms may our caravans have passed untried? Until, one by one, by the blindest of leaps, we light on the road to these places, we must stumble in darkness and hunger.

And now when I sway to a fitful wind, alone and listing, I will think, maple key. When I see a photograph of earth from space, the planet so startlingly painterly and hung, I will think, maple key. When I shake your hand or meet your eyes I will think, two maple keys. If I am a maple key falling, at least I can twirl.

I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. — Annie Dillard, from "Living Like Weasels," Teaching a Stone to Talk (HarperCollins, New York, 2009, Kindle Edition)

I think science works the way a tightrope walker works: by not looking at its feet. As soon as it looks at its feet, it realizes its operating in midair.

The line of words is a miner's pick, a woodcarver's gouge, a surgeon's probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory.