Quotes About Wandering

She had a wild, wandering soul but when she loved, she loved with chaos and that made all the difference.

Life is a dancing mind, loving heart, caring soul, and wandering thoughts.

Always moving around and never having any friends or anything.

I said, but now, that there could be no good event for him, or thee, or me, who are here wandering together in this gloomy maze of evil, and stumbling, at every step, over the guilt wherewith we have strewn our path.

Then his eyes glazed over for a second. 'I go places sometimes,' he told me, his voice as thready as his eyes. 'Don't know why I go places... I just do.

Her eyes are open and her mind is somewhere else.

Homesick, Grace?" he asks, as they near the town. "Home always makes me sick," she says. "Drive on.

Wandering aimlessly, broken by my thoughts, Which slowly sharpened daggers at my heart

I sing of calamitous dogs, those that wander among the winding ravines of great cities, or those whose sparkling, winning eyes have asked some misfit: Take me with you, and our combined wretchedness might make some sort of happiness!

Nous avons vu des astres Et des flots, nous avons vu des sables aussi; Et, malgré bien des chocs et d'imprévus désastres, Nous nous sommes souvent ennuyés, comme ici.

That moment - to this ... may be years in the way they measure, but it's only one sentence back in my mind - there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails. I pass the hotel at 8 and at 5; there are cats in the alleys and bottles and bums, and I look up at the window and think, I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.

I like the way Mahler wandered about in his music and still retained his passion. He must have looked like an earthquake walking down the street.

I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.

it's half-past nowhere everywhere.

I got into the car and began cruising up and down the streets looking for a For Rent sign. It didn't seem to be an unusual thing to do.

If they veered left, it would feel to them as if they were sinking into the earth: the path would narrow as the ground around them rose up to their hips, then shoulders, then heads. The walls would turn from sod to stone, and it would seem as if they were walking inside a crag in a cliff. The sky would be reduced to a thin swath of blue, broken in parts by the branches of the trees that grew above them along the sides of this ancient channel.

I lost the ball in the moon.

I don't have a home. I'm on the road, more or less.

Where shall the weary rest? When shall the lonely of heart come home? What doors are open for the wanderer? And which of us shall find his father, know his face, and in what place, and in what time, and in what land? Where? Where the weary of heart can abide for ever, where the weary of wandering can find peace, where the tumult, the fever, and the fret shall be for ever stilled.

I start off meaning to tell you a story, and then I get sidetracked with something that interests me, and I go wandering off all over the place; yet here we are, nicely on schedule, at the point where I have just met Phaedra and am just starting off on the long process of getting betrothed to her. In fact, we are here rather ahead of time; so, while we are waiting for the main stream of my narrative to catch up with us, I shall tell you about my first meeting with the Spartans.

I remember hearing that one very small allied contingent from a non-Greek city somewhere in the far south of Sicily had been completely wiped out except for a single man, and that for days afterwards he wandered round the camp looking completely lost, since there was no one left alive who could speak his language. I knew how he felt.

Since that day I worried I'd been wandering the night. But I had forgotten that this is a world, upon which the sun does rise.

Since that day, I've worried I'd been wandering the night, but I had forgotten that this is a world upon which the sun does rise.

Betelgeuse, Achenar. Orion. Aquila. Centre the Cross and you have a steady compass. But there's no compass for my ever disoriented soul, only ever beckoning ghost lights. In the one sure direction, to the one sure end.