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.

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