Quotes About Wanderers

we are longtime outcasts, flying through the emptiness of time in a straight line.

Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean. We are ready at last to set sail for the stars.

We embarked on our journey to the stars with a question first framed in the childhood of our species and in each generation asked anew with undiminished wonder: What are the stars? Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean. We are ready at last to set sail for the stars.

Thus we are driven, lost souls, from camp-fire flame to camp-fire flame, know nothing of our next rest and nothing of the journey's aim

Estoy mirando a todos los que han querido acompañarnos en esta velada, y quisiera decirles que no veo un auditorio lleno de parisinos ataviados con sombreros de copas, joyas y vestidos de seda. No veo banqueros, amas de casa o dependientes. No. Hoy me dirijo a ustedes viéndolos como lo que realmente son: sirenas, viajeros, aventureros y magos. Ustedes son los verdaderos soñadores.

Show us your Christ, Lady, after this our exile, yes: but show Him to us also now, show Him to us here, while we are still wanderers.

But as we all know, it is the fairy-tale creatures - the misfits, the weirdos, the wanderers, the flakes, the poets, the vagabonds, the idlers - who make life worth living.

They write romantic songs about men who are wanderers. Women they crucify." "She

Show us your Christ, Lady, after this our exile, yes: but show Him to us also now, show Him to us here, while we are still wanderers.

His discussion of "the humanity of the ancients" is illuminating (Z 441), especially when he speaks with admiration and nostalgia about the right of exile according to which everyone is guaranteed sanctuary at the hearth of every temple or private home; and the respect for wanderers, enemies, the elderly, the dead—that is, for the most fragile casualties of the human condition.

In the first place, as the homeless wanderers of the twentieth century prove, the question of nationality no longer necessarily involves the question of allegiance. Allegiance, after all, has to work two ways; and one can grow weary of an allegiance which is not reciprocal.

But the stream of London, charity flows in a channel which, though deep and mighty, is yet noiseless and underground; not obvious or readily accessible to poor houseless wanderers: and it cannot be denied that the outside air and frame-work of London society is harsh, cruel, and repulsive.

The good guys are the ones who wander. The ones with the ocean spilling from their chests.

Of the parallax or parallactic drift of socalled fixed stars, in reality evermoving wanderers from immeasurably remote eons to infinitely remote futures in comparison with which the years, threescore and ten, of allotted human life formed a parenthesis of infinitesimal brevity.

Catholic) monks taught metallurgy, introduced new crops, copied ancient texts, preserved literacy, pioneered in technology, invented champagne, improved the European landscape, provided for wanderers of every stripe, and looked after the lost and shipwrecked.

and I've heard that they walk among the stars.

Itinerant degenerates bleeding westward like some heliotropic plague.

It was at Long Huruk that we encountered the vortex of the dream time of which we had so far only touched the periphery, for this was the semi-nomadic community of mystics and dream wanderers.

So your question, are we happy here? I say how can we be happy when we are mere wanderers without a home?

Je hais les voyages et les explorateurs

There are dreamers and poets and landscape painters with dirty noses and wanderers like me who came here by chance and never left. They are all looking for something, travelling the world and the seven seas but looking for a reason to stay.

We are all wanderers and travellers, refugees and pilgrims until we return once more to the stars.

All this is still my kingdom, a small portion of the splendid riches which God distributes to passers-by, to wanderers and to solitaries. The earth belongs to anyone who stops for a moment, gazes and goes on his way; the whole sun belongs to the naked lizard who basks in it.

I shall have everything ... and I shall lean over the edge of a white terrace smothered with the roses of my gardens and shall see the lords of the earth, the wanderers, pass by!'" - Colette, La Vagabonde