Quotes About Road

Walking, I can almost hear the redwoods beating. And the oceans are above me here, rolling clouds, heavy and dark. It is winter and there is smoke from the fires. It is a world of elemental attention, of all things working together, listening to what speaks in the blood. Whichever road I follow, I walk in the land of many gods, and they love and eat one another. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.

There is only one royal road for the spiritual journey...Love

I am ready for the most exhilarating time of my life, discovery before me, negativity behind me, through the road to ruin, I will find within me, my most unshakeable truth.

Cycling is a sport of the open road and spectators are lining that road.

There is a madman who lives on the road to Mkushi. Every full moon he comes out onto the tarmac and digs a deep trench across the road. Dad would like to find the madman and bring him back to the farm. 'Think what a strong bugger he is, eh?' 'Yes, but you could only get him to work when there was a full moon.' 'Which is twice as hard as any other Zambian.

As is usual with the ignorant, long words had the fascination for both girls that obstacles on the road have for a bad driver; instead of avoiding them they ran into them.

The days were lengthening. A wet primrose light lay over Wells Road. The lamps were like jewels, pale but piercingly bright. The air... fresh and mild.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions," said Boyd. "So is the road to heaven," she countered. "Which road we might be on is in the eye of the beholder.

It isn't the pen—it's the writer; it isn't the road—it's the runner that counts.

Everything in life is somewhere else, and you get there in a car.

A person's life is a journey, a road. Sometimes you go off the road and sometimes you stay on all the way through. But you are the only one on that road. It's your road.

The best path through life is the highway.

OH, I LIKE smoking, I do. I smoke for my health, my mental health. Tobacco gives you little pauses, a rest from life. I don't suppose anyone smoking a pipe would have road rage, would they?

O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!

Photography is only a new road from a different direction, but moving toward the common goal, which is life.

My Plan A was to be a psychologist. I thought I would be a receptionist. I'm always middle of the road and very normal. I've always wanted a normal life, and this is what I got.

I really do believe that all of you are at the beginning of a wonderful journey. As you start traveling down that road of life, remember this: There are never enough comfort stops. The places you're going to are never on the map. And once you get that map out, you won't be able to re-fold it no matter how smart you are. So forget the map, roll down the windows, and whenever you can pull over and have picnic with a pig. And if you can help it never fly as cargo.

The middle of the road is for yellow lines and dead armadillos.

Killer on the road / His brain is squirming like a toad.

It was dusk - winter dusk. Snow lay white and shining over the pleated hills, and icicles hung from the forest trees. Snow lay piled on the dark road across Willoughby Wold, but from dawn men had been clearing it with brooms and shovels. There were hundreds of them at work, wrapped in sacking because of the bitter cold, and keeping together in groups for fear of the wolves, grown savage and reckless from hunger.

The sunrise was the colour of bad blood. It leaked out of the east and stained the dark sky red, marked the scraps of the cloud with stolen gold. Underneath it the road twisted up the mountainside towards the fortress of Fontezarmo - a cluster of sharp towers, ash-black again the wounded heavens. The sunrise was red, black and gold. The colours of their profession.

A dove's call echoed like a bell as her feet drummed on the road.

The old guy on the karaoke microphone was belting out the Sixties classic 'King of the Road'. 'Trailers for sale or rent, Rooms to let . . . fifty cents . . . I'm a man of means by no means . . . King of the road . . .

King of the road. Aye right, Rosie thought. Depends on how long you've been in the pub and how many drinks