Best 3492 quotes in «adventure quotes» category

All things in Fiji are paid for in blood.

Al: Now, remind me, who's walking who down the aisle again?

A long time ago, there was a little girl called Mary. Now Mary, she was warned several times not to go to her neighbor’s house. Her neighbor was a grandmother. But Mary hardly listened, so she snuck off one night to spy on her. She tried the front door first, and it creaked open. Then suddenly, she heard a squeaking noise upstairs. She followed it – climbed up the wooden stairs where half of it was already rotten. She heard the squeaking noise again. It was coming from the library. She opened the door and hid behind a couch. She peered out, and she saw the grandmother.” Dave paused to drain his cup of coffee before continuing. My heart thudded so loudly, I thought that everyone could hear it. “So Mary gasped in disbelief as she heard the squeaking noise again, and the grandmother’s rocking chair was not moving at all. Then the grandmother opened her eyes and looked directly at her, holding her gaze steadily and sharply, and then suddenly, BOO!

Although she continued to knit, and sat upright, it was thus that she felt herself; and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures. When life sank down for a moment, the range of experience seemed limitless. And to everybody there was always this sense of unlimited resources, she supposed; one after another, she, Lily, Augustus Carmichael, must feel, our apparitions, the things you know us by, are simply childish. Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by. Her horizon seemed to her limitless. There were all the places she had not seen; the Indian plains; she felt herself pushing aside the thick leather curtain of a church in Rome. This core of darkness could go anywhere, for no one saw it. They could not stop it, she thought, exulting. There was freedom, there was peace, there was, most welcome of all, a summoning together, a resting on a platform of stability.

Although one may direct the future or past through the onerous linkages of temporal cause and effect, riding the breaking waves of the present and never once overstepping it, the better way is to go there and do it yourself.

Although the deepest of snow in living memory lay upon the ground, the sun was shining and Aurelia breathed easiest out of doors. The four walls of any given room could not give her the horizons she longed for - horizons she could measure with her eyes and strive to conquer with her own two legs. She was like a wild animal, Cook always said.

Although nobody could ever know about our friendship, that wasn’t going to stop us from being together.

Although, the journey is long, keep traveling.

Always choose the adventure ... unless, it's chilly outside and there's a cup of warm coffee resting near a book and comfy sofa.

Always give the rabble something to love and something to hate.

Always re-invent yourself. Always try new things; new food, new hobbies, meet new people. That will keep your life from becoming stagnant and boring. And you will have a lot more fun!

Always remember that when a new moment, a new insight, hovers around you, choose the new because the old has not done anything for you, so what is the point of going back? Even if the new proves wrong, then too, choose the new. At least it will be a new adventure; you will come to know something.

Always take the first step. That's where the journey begins.

America, and all it had once stood for--all he had fought for--was dying...on life support, and counting.

A million dollars. Think about it for a moment. It’s not just a large number – it’s a symbol of everything we’ve been told to want in this world. Foreign cars with doors that swing up like magical wings. Houses with in-ground pools and wine cellars. Wines that are older than you, and foods with names that can’t be pronounced by mere mortals. A million dollars would open the kind of doors the general public doesn’t even know exist.

A misadventure is an act that has a safer, less self-detrimental, less interesting alternative. But you choose that act because you want to do something memorable and worthy of discussion.

A misadventurer's greatest fear is their mother.

A mistake is the most beautiful thing in the world. It is the only way you can get to some place you’ve never been before. I try to make as many as I can. Making a mistake is the only way that you can grow.

An adventure is nothing but a story. After the adventure ends, it’s nothing but a memory; a shadow of a life you lived. People will envy you for the time it takes you to tell the story. But after that, what then? I think people admire you more for becoming a teacher. I really do.

An adventurer has a purpose. Such as finding new lands and valuable treasures. A misadventurer, besides doing it for the hell of it and for a good time, doesn't really have a good purpose.

An adventurous life does not necessarily mean climbing mountains, swimming with sharks, or jumping off cliffs. It means risking yourself by leaving a little piece of you behind in all those you meet along the way.

And adventures, no matter how dark or disturbing to recall, are meant to be shared.

And don't tell me that man doesn't belong out there [space]. Man belongs wherever he wants to go — and he’ll do plenty well when he gets there.

And, for the gods sake, don't waste the whole day working! Make time for a bit of adventure dear. This life is only so long.

And I'll tell you a secret. We're all afraid of failing. We're all scared of adventure.

And then I knew that despite all the pain and hard work all of us had gone through, despite the sadness and anger we felt, in the end, everything was going to be fine. But I did not know when the end was, or if it was even near. But that did not matter. I preferred to look towards it in anticipation rather than worry about it. One new day equalled to one new adventure. And right now, I still had plenty of days left in my life. So I did not decide to sit down and plan out my life. Instead, I decided to sit back, relax, and see where life would take me.

And the Great Adventure - the real life equivalent of all the adventure stories they'd devoured as boys - consisted of crouching in a dugout, waiting to be killed. The war that had promised so much in the way of 'manly' activity had actually delivered 'feminine' passivity, and on a scale that their mothers and sisters had hardly known. No wonder they broke down.

...and they buried him there, just off the trail, in a glade ten miles from the majestic Salween, a long way from home, but what dead man is not?

And then what? "And then I will show you a trick that dragons have." A tiny flicker of hope sprang to life in my heart. "Oh, it should be more than a flicker. Haven’t you heard? We dragons can light anything ablaze.

An elegant sari was draped across her figure; magnificent, painstakingly embroidered, and in a shade of deep red, it was even more lavish than the gowns she had worn every day since arriving at the castle. Her lips and eyes were painted, and though she looked beautiful she had never been more miserable.

An eerie, chilling voice interrupted him to reverberate through the house. “You believe you are safe, but you will never be safe from me. My reach is limitless, my capabilities legion. Sleep fitfully and avoid the shadows, for know that I am coming for you. When I arrive, you will pay for what you did.

And who is to say the truth can’t be a miracle?

…and yet, at the end of it all, a few very broad lines did seem to stick out, like the primary colors in a painting that explain all the confusing blends. And once I had understood my artificial convention, as one understands a convention of the theatre, it was surprising how many adventures did, with a squeeze, fit in their compartments- provided that I chuckled as I did the squeezing and reminded myself that it was all a game anyway.

Any day is a good day to leave some miles behind.

Anxiety's already tingling my skin.

Anyone can take an adventure even if it's only in your own backyard. Let your imagination be your adventure and see where it takes you.

Any situation is new adventure.

Anything I run across can light up the circuitry of my brain, and set me on an adventure. To research strains of yeast; hiccup fetishists; the proper use of inverse, obverse, converse and reverse; the ratio of main narrative to tangent, of forward action to aside. What else do we do but quest, pursue meaning in the information wash? Where does that storm sewer opening from the river into the city’s underneath go to, anyhow? I grab a headlamp and head in. It’s long and low and dark and stinks and extends for miles. Underneath the city is another city. The one above begins to disappear. That’s what we’re after, isn’t it? To disappear? To venture into darkness, to let what we know or think we know recede for an hour, a day, a novel’s length, and see what meaning can be made of what remains?

An open mind and a willing heart are the beginning of many a great adventure. Let’s get started.

Anything worth anything can be found in books.

Are you coming to bed?” “With you in your underwear?” “I can take it off if it bothers you.

Approaching the trail, he broke through the thicket a short distance ahead of the Empath. Causing the Empaths horse to startle as the surprised rider jerked on the reins. Cap was equally surprised to find a young girl before him instead of an older, experienced male Empath. Cap brought his horse to a quick halt. The young girl pulled a small knife from her boot and cautioned him. "I don't know where you came from, but I'm not easy prey.” Her voice shook slightly with fear as she raised the knife. Not sure how to proceed, they stared silently at each other. Cap had always believed that Empaths didn't carry weapons. This pretty, chestnut haired girl couldn't be more than 18 years old. Her long straight tresses covered the spot on her jacket where the Empathic Emblem was usually worn, causing Cap to doubt she was the one he sought. Not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had, Cap tried to explain. "I'm Commander Caplin Taylor. I’m looking for an Empath that is headed for the Western Hunting Lodge.” "My name is Kendra; I am the Empath you seek.” She answered cautiously, still holding the blade. A noise from the brush drew her attention as a small rodent pounced out, trying to evade an unseen predator. Cap was just close enough to lurch forward and snatch the dirk from her hand. Her head jerked back in alarm. "Bosen May has been mauled by a Sraeb, his shoulder is a mass of pulp." Cap spoke quickly not wanting to hesitate any longer. That was all Kendra needed to hear. She pushed her horse past him and headed quickly down the trail. "Wait!" Cap called after her, turning his horse around. Reining in the horse, she turned back to face him annoyed by the delay. "Are you a good horseman?" Cap asked, as he stuffed her dirk in his jacket. "I've been in the saddle since I was a child." She answered, abruptly. "Okay so just a few years then?" Cap's rebuke angered her. Jerking the horse back toward the trail, she ignored him. "Wait, I'm sorry!" Cap called after her. "It's just that I know a quicker way, if you can handle some rough terrain." "Let’s go then." Kendra replied, gruffly, turning back to face him. Without another word, Cap dove back into the brush and the girl followed.

A pulse. Beat-beating against her palm. Alive. Beat by beat the bottomless whirlwind of perceptions and data and images and sensations careening through her mind—so many how can this tiny skull hold them all—began to abate in time to the rhythm of not her pulse, but his.

A rich and mature life involves opening up to a wider world. If we base our understanding of life only on what we personally experience, we are impoverished indeed.

As academia became my identity, my fascination with firefighters became buried and, seemingly, died.

Appreciate the negatives. Because the negatives are what you learn from to make more positives.

Arrogance and Conceit are the mother and father of a closed mind. Charles Jennings, "Journey of the Chosen".

Art is supposed to reflect your journey through real life. Your discovery of your character in solitude and around other people, the moments of clarity when you feel loved and the moment when your heart breaks so much that you can hear it crack. When you run careless and free on open fields and when you're struggling on your way home on the bus. This is what makes you a real artist. Experiences, moments, stories. Falling recklessly in love, losing someone you love and then learning to belong to yourself again. Going to new places, meeting new people, driving in the middle of the night on empty streets. Going to the ocean and staying there until 6 a.m, smoking cigarettes and talking about roses and butterflies. These are the things that will give you something worth writing about, worth singing about, worth creating art around.

As a child I would play with such imagination that the ‘real’ world was never real at all. It was full of mystery, adventure and possibility.

As a society of unbelief, Western culture is devoid of a sense of journey, of adventure, because it lacks belief in much more than the cultivation of an ever-shrinking horizon of self-preservation and and self-expression.