224 Journey Quotes

What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive.

The highway is alive tonight But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light With the ghost of old Tom Joad.

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

We have perhaps a natural fear of ends. We would rather be always on the way than arrive. Given the means, we hang on to them and often forget the ends.

I'd like them to see that those things that set us apart or make us different can be wonderful contributions to the world around us. I'd like them to see that size and color are irrelevant to the dreams we envision for ourselves. And I'd also love for them to see that life is a journey, and every step of the way, we can learn something and become stronger and wiser.

No straight lines make up my life; And all my roads have bends; There's no clear-cut beginnings; And so far no dead-ends.

And the wind will whip your tousled hair, The sun, the rain, the sweet despair, Great tales of love and strife. And somewhere on your path to glory You will write your story of a life.

When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find himself a good and sufficient reason for going.

Now, some people might look at something and let it go by, because they don't recognize the pattern and the significance. It's the sensitivity to pattern recognition that seems to me to be of great importance. It's a matter of being able to find meaning, whether it's positive or negative, in whatever you encounter. It's like a journey. It's like finding the paths that will allow you to go forward, or that path that has a block that tells you to start over again or do something else.

I always love to begin a journey on Sundays, because I shall have the prayers of the church to preserve all that travel by land, or water.

A cold coming they had of it, at this time of the year; just the worst time of the year to take a journey, and specially a long journey, in.

Experience suggests it doesn't matter so much how you got here, as what you do after you arrive.

If the poem has no obvious destination, there's a chance that we'll be all setting off on an interesting ride.

When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.

Success for me isn't a destination it's a journey. Everybody's working to get to the top but where is the top? It's all about working harder and getting better and moving up and up.

We can travel longer, night and day, without losing our spirits than almost any persons we ever met.

A tremendous stream is flowing toward the ocean, carrying us all along with it; and though like straws and scraps of paper we may at times float aimlessly about, in the long run we are sure to join the Ocean of Life and Bliss.

I journey to the east, where I have been told, there are men who have taught death some manners.

If you get far enough away you'll be on your way back home.

Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again.

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot.

And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark.

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

So let's take the good times as they go and I'll meet you further on up the road...

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe- Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew.

Paths are made by walking.

The road to the Olympics, leads to no city, no country. It goes far beyond New York or Moscow, ancient Greece or Nazi Germany. The road to the Olympics leads - in the end - to the best within us.

The Mojave is a big desert and a frightening one. It's as though nature tested a man for endurance and constancy to prove whether he was good enough to get to California.

It was still only nine o'clock when I set off on the last leg of my journey, feeling old and dirty and incapable. You probably know the feeling if you are over eighteen.

Step by step walk the thousand-mile road.

Caballito negro. ?Donde llevas tu jinete muerto?

The train slows down, it's the Cais do Sodre. I arrived to Lisbon, but not to a conclusion.

'Any road', said Carlyle, 'even this road to Entepfuhl, will take you to the end of the world'. But the Entepfuhl road, if taken in its entirety, and to the end, goes back to Entepfuhl; so Entepfuhl, where we already were, is that very end of the world we were seeking.

It's in an inland sea that the river of my life ended.

I'm still a kid. I'm like six years old. But it's just a matter of wanting to get up, it's just a big journey. I felt like when I left home that I was on a journey, and I still am.

My life is like a stroll upon the beach, As near the ocean's edge as I can go.

Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next.

Jack: These last 2 miles were rugged, weren't they?

Clyde: I knew as soon as we got off the freeway, we'd run into trouble.

'Today, as I stand here in this august House at 67 years of age, this last November 30th ... culminates for me a journey and quest that has taken me most of my adult life, two decades in fact, to fulfil a vision and a dream that I, my mother and my maternal grandfather had regarding our entry into the Vola ni Kawa Bula (VKB) [1] and to be recognised finally by the Great Council of Chiefs.

We that acquaint ourselves with every zone, And pass both tropics and behold the poles, When we come home, are to ourselves unknown, And unacquainted still with our own souls.

If love be not his Guide, He never will come back!

What comes to my head is a simple, beautiful line from a Van Morrison song: It's a hard road, Daddy-o. That line always kills me. The shit you put yourself through before you arrive. (2003)

'Andabamos sin buscarnos pero sabiendo que andabamos para encontrarnos.'

On the harp of the road what true melodies are being sounded! and its notes pierce the heart: There the Eternal Fountain is playing its endless life-streams of birth and death.

I felt in need of a great pilgrimage so I sat still for three days and God came to me.

'I'm just saying, Hey Mona Lisa/Come home, you know you can't Rome without Caesar'

I've got a ticket, To the fast city, Where the bells don't really ring, Getting off the plane the cold air, Rushes like bullets through my brain, And I'm divided between penguins and cats, But it's not about what animal you've got, It's about being able to fly, It's about dying nine times.

Sometimes the path you are on is not as important as the direction you are heading. For, no matter if you take the Holland Tunnel or the George Washington Bridge you get to New Jersey, so long as you are heading west. The procedure involved in your path to Nirvana may meander, but a road worth traveling will have its twists and turns.

Now we can cross the Shifting Sands.

'The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick,' said the Witch, 'so you cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not be afraid of him, but tell your story and ask him to help you'.

What if I had to Live here without you Oh, I don't really want to know Where you goin', Lenny Cohen?

I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended.

The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey.

We shall lodge at the sign of the Grave, you say; Well, the road is a long one we trudge, my friend, So why should we grieve at the break of the day? Let us sing, let us drink, let us love, let us play,-- We can keep our sights for the journey's end.

Behind the western bars The shrouded day retreats, And unperceived the stars Steal to their sovran seats. And whiter grows the foam, The small moon lightens more; And as I turn me home, My shadow walks before.

Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?

My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.

To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.

To live only for some future goal is shallow. It's the sides of the mountain that sustain life, not the top.

And thy traveyle shalt thou sone ende, For to thy long home sone shalt thou wende.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, Or the way of a man with a maid; But the fairest way to me is a ship's upon the sea In the heel of the North-East Trade.

Ever the wide world over, lass, Ever the trail held true, Over the world and under the world, And back at the last to you.

It's like a book, I think, this bloomin' world, Which you can read and care for just so long, But presently you feel that you will die Unless you get the page you're readin' done, An' turn another - likely not so good; But what you're after is to turn 'em all.

It was the tower. The Dark Tower. It stood on the horizon of a vast plain the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun. He couldn't see the stairs which spiraled up and up and up within its brick shell, but he could see the windows which spiraled up along that staircase's way, and saw the ghosts of all the people he had ever known pass through them. Up and up they marched, and an arid wind brought him the sound of voices calling his name. Roland . . . Come . . . Roland . . . come . . . come . . . come . . .come . .

You are the grim, goal-oriented ones who will not believe that the joy is in the journey rather than the destination no matter how many times it has been proven to you.

Over the mountains, And over the waves, Over the fountains, And under the graves; Over the floods that are deepest, Which do Neptune obey; Over the rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way.

They knew they were pilgrims.

Being thus arrived in a good harbor, and brought safe to land, they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of Heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof, again to set their feet on the firm and stable earth, their proper element.

At no time are we ever in such complete possession of a journey, down to its last nook and cranny, as when we are busy with preparations for it. After that, there remains only the journey itself, which is nothing but the process through which we lose our ownership of it.

My life has been one long journey.

Into the Woods