Quotes About Wandering

Sometimes it feels good to take the long way home.

A vagrant is everywhere at home.

I have lost all sense of home, having moved about so much. It means to me now--only that place where the books are kept.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed home and thought of here? Where should we be today?

Home?' I say. It's a word that can mean anywhere and nowhere.

For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel like home.

There's this way that photography is always about going out searching. I'm not the kind of a photographer who can photograph my home.

It is in the nature of cats to do a certain amount of unescorted roaming.

When I'm 70 I might be a man in a park just wandering around, speaking in tongues with kids throwing bread at me.

Sorry... my mind was wandering... one time it went all the way to Venus and ordered a meal I couldn't pay for.

Mr. Jennings is the one who trapped the fairies here to begin with. If they're back and wandering around, if they're loose, then, well, it's not good.

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path. . .

I'll never stop wandering. And when the time comes to die, I'll find the wildest, loneliest, most desolate spot there is.

We sail within a vast sphere, ever drifting in uncertainty, driven from end to end.

Life is always on the way back home, after its wilful adventures.

All I want to be is a wandering entrepreneur touching billions of lives. I am going to be the monk who never bought a Ferrari.

Little soul, you have wandered lost a long time.

A need to wander was in most Russians' blood, particularly the less well-off classes, and without positions, property, and status to fetter them, they would often pack a bundle of a few clothes and minimum food and set off on a week's, a a few clothes and minimum food and set off on a week's, a month's, a year's pilgrimage from monastery to town, or just traversing the vast empty spaces of their country, stopping as they chose, going where they willed.

It would be nice to travel if you knew where you were going and where you would live at the end or do we ever know, do we ever live where we live, we're always in other places, lost, like sheep.

If I told you I've worked hard to get where I'm at, I'd be lying, because I have no idea where I am right now.

He preferred to spend the afternoon in solitary roamings through Paris. He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.

They cannot finde that path, which first was showne, But wander too and fro in waies vnknowne . . .

they never know one another and they're all crazed and wandering.

Wandering seemed no more than the happiness of an anxious man.