Quotes About Trail

Indians in Kentucky used a 225-mile path between Big Bone Lick and Maysville that they called, simply, "the Buffalo Path.

and gotten them back on the trail. They would continue to dry out on the run. He had also replaced his heavy insulated mittens. They were a soggy mess, frozen stiff, and would have to

Although steady and slow are the trail to love, there is no path to see through without the engine of passionate and true. (Soar)

The country of the souls is underneath us, toward the sunset; the trail leads through a dim twilight. Tracks of the people who last went over it and of their dogs are visible.

they rode out, careful to stay off the trail in case the bluecoats took their revenge against any Indians they could find. As

Why is this place named Burnt Boot? Martin asked. Back in the days of the cattle drives old Hiram Cleary got tired of lookin' at the back end of cattle all day. He sat down right out there and pulled off his boot, threw it in the fire so he couldn't go no further, and built a store to sell stuff to the people comin' up the trail. He was an ancestor to my husband, Gladys answered.

With Nancy in the lead, the riders cut across the big meadow at a gallop and started up the mountain trail. Nancy followed Aunt Bet's map, and after a long, hot climb, the girls sighted a group of weather-beaten frame buildings clinging to the slope above. As they rode into the streets of the ghost town they were struck by the silence and the bleached look of the sagging buildings. In front of a dilapidated hotel they dismounted and tied their horses to an old hitching rail.

Following the Nez Perce Trail: A Guide to the Nee-Me-Poo National Historic Trail with Eyewitness Accounts.

Early in his visit he asked a senior monk, who had been living in a similar cabin for over fifteen years, if he ever got tired of walking the trail connecting the residences to the main building. "I'm only just starting to learn it," the monk replied mindfully.

We set out on the trail of a murderous monster and ended up face to face with a frightened child.

You're going to have to settle on one eventually. Why not save us both the hassle, close your eyes and point. Whoever you're pointing at will be our winner." "I've played that game once before. Ended up--" Paris shuddered. "Never mind. It's not good to wander down that particular memory trail. So no. Just no.

I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'll let you go, but don't expect me to forget you. We're bonded. I'll be on your trail, doing everything in my power to win and romance you. So prepare to see a lot of me. I love you too much to let you go." "Like I'd ever allow you to let me go. You're mine. I love you, too, Flowers." Her dark lashes swept up, her eyes suddenly shining with love.

While there I had picked up a few vital crumbs of information, and I knew the first twenty-four hours of any investigation were crucial. The more time passed, the colder the trail grew. In a missing person case, that meant the chances of finding that missing person alive dropped by the hour. The first twenty-four had come and gone. The first forty-eight were waving good-bye from the window of the "you suck at your job" train.

It was this epic adventure and I had this mad idea that it would be interesting to follow the Greek hero Odysseus on his trail from what is modern day Turkey to the west of Greece. He took 10 years to do that and I took six months. I was on 27 different boats for 1,700 miles and I went to 13 different islands.

We have our own ocean, we've got a great bike trail - I love riding all the way to the turnaround at Hollywood Beach.

With our blogs and tweets, digital cameras, and unlimited-gigabyte e-mail archives, participation in the online culture now means creating a trail of always present, ever searchable, unforgetting external memories that only grows as one ages.

I follow the trail of tears that seems to lead to the heart's truth.

He wished he had some bread crumbs or something to leave a trail. Of course, if he had bread crumbs, he wouldn't be looking for food. Just sitting around eating bread crumbs. Whatever.

I don't want to be in pain anymore. I want to be done, to be left unburdened and naked, to tear the hurt off my body like layers of clothes. At the end of the trail I stop and bend forward, hands on my knees, to catch my breath. I'm not healed, but for this moment, I'm better.

Luckily for you," he said, "you shed hairpins the way Hansel and Gretel shed crumbs. I followed your trail." He pressed a half dozen hairpins into the palm of my left hand. "Now let us return to light, safety, and society.

The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.

You do not cut a check in the state of Kansas to John Doe, executioner. The executioner is paid in cash so there's no trail to him

He had been aware of the distance traveled by his heart, similar to the way a hiker became lost in the wilderness. A half mile out and you could still see where you had started, could easily find the way back home. But ten miles and a number of forks in your trail later and there was no going back. At that point, you had no choice but to marshal the resources to build yourself a shelter and put down fresh roots.

Try the meditation of the trail, just walk along looking at the trail at your feet and don't look about and just fall into a trance as the ground zips by. Trails are like that: you're floating along in a Shakespearean Arden paradise and expect to see nymphs and fluteboys, then suddenly you're struggling in a hot broiling sun of hell in dust and nettles and poison oak… just like life.