Quotes About Adventure

the secret for harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and greatest enjoyment is - to live dangerously.

Life is a journey so everyone is a tourist

What makes life 'worth living'? - The awareness that there is something for which one is ready to risk one's life

A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting.

Of what use is a book that never transports us beyond all books

For, believe me, the secret of the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment of existence is: to live dangerously!

Thereafter Zarathustra went on again for two hours, trusting to the path and the light of the stars:

do not belong to those who only get their thoughts from books, or at the prompting of books,-it is our custom to think in the open air, walking, leaping, climbing, or dancing on lonesome mountains by preference, or close to the sea, where even the paths become thoughtful.

From the practice of wise men.—To become wise, one must wish to have certain experiences and run, as it were, into their gaping jaws. This, of course, is very dangerous; many a wise guy has been swallowed. 301

Glaubt es mir - das Geheimnis, um die größte Fruchtbarkeit und den größten Genuß vom Dasein einzuernten, heisst: gefährlich leben.

the secret of realizing the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment of existence is: to live dangerously! Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius! Send your ships out into uncharted seas! Live in conflict with your equals and with yourselves! Be robbers and ravagers as long as you cannot be rulers and owners, you men of knowledge!…(283).

Já não amo, pois, senão o país dos meus filhos, a terra incógnita entre mares longínquos; é essa que a minha vela deve incessantemente, procurar.

adventurers and circumnavigators of that inner world which is called "human being

Brave people are persuaded to an action when it is represented as more dangerous than it is.

The Mouser grinned as he poked about with his gaze at the nastily slimed cobbles and the dead bodies and the scattered hardware. "Cat's Claw must be here somewhere," he muttered, "and I did hear the chink of gold.…" "You'd feel a penny under the tongue of a man you were strangling!" Fafhrd told him angrily.

Lankhmar City would feed me, aye, feed me well—and be paid only with lumps and perhaps a deep scratch or two. So to Lankhmar I went. Falling in there with a clever girl of the same turn of mind and some experience, I did well for two full rounds of moons and a few more. We worked only in black garb, and called ourselves to ourselves the Dark Duo.

Then he turned and headed straight for home, but he took the long way, around the world.

Then the hut was moving inland too on its five spindly legs. It turned around, so that its door faced away from them, and its speed increased, its legs moving nimbly as those of a cockroach, and was soon lost amongst the tangle of thorn and seahawk trees. So ended the first encounter of the Mouser and his comrade Fafhrd with Sheelba of the Eyeless Face.

Whoever'd think, Mr. Wong, they could put nine hours and maybe ten of good, good darkness into such a tiny time-capsule, a gelatin spaceship bound for the stars.

This time their preparations were well thought out. The Mouser carried a mallet and a stout iron pry-bar, in case they had to attack masonry, and made certain that candles, flint, wedges, chisels, and several other small tools were in his pouch. Fafhrd borrowed a pick from the peasant's implements and tucked a coil of thin, strong rope in his belt. He also took his bow and quiver of arrows.

Don't follow it, I say. It leads only to squidgy death.

THE MAD ROBOT, by William P. McGivern Originally published in Amazing Stories, January 1944. CHAPTER I Rick Weston arrived at the Earth space-port outside Greater New York at six o'clock in the morning. He was driven directly to the mooring tower where his slim, fast pursuit single-seater was being readied for his trip to Jupiter

THE ROBOT MEN OF BUBBLE CITY, by Rog Phillips Originally published in Fantastic Adventures, July 1949. Turlogh Hogan pressed the stud that raised the parabolic projector but of its recess in the hull of his ship. The second the light on the panel flashed on, signaling the projector was in operating position, he flicked the relay button that sent the ultra-high frequency current through its opposing coils.

Six days a week at the cooking school were not enough for me. In my free time I sought out restaurants and snack shops I hadn't visited before, and begged them to let me study in their kitchens.