Best 105 quotes in «wandering quotes» category

A million miles from nowhere, is better than going nowhere, a million times.

[A]dventures befall the unadventurous as readily, if not as frequently, as the bold. Adventures are a logical and reliable result - and have been since at least the time of Odysseus - of the fatal act of leaving one's home, or trying to return to it again. All adventures happen in that damned and magical space, wherever it may be found or chanced upon, which least resembles one's home. As soon as you have crossed your doorstep or the county line, into that place where the structures, laws, and conventions of your upbringing no longer apply, where the support and approval (but also the disapproval and repression) of your family and neighbors are not to be had: then you have entered into adventure, a place of sorrow, marvels, and regret.

Alexander the Great slept with 'The Iliad' beneath his pillow. Though I’ve never led an army, I am a wanderer. I cradle 'The Odyssey' nights while the moon is waning, as if it were the sweet body of a woman.

Are you there? If your mind is not there, you are not there! You are wherever your mind is wandering!

As long as there is greed (desire) for even a single situation, one will have to come back into the world and wandering will continue until then.

Avijeet Das > Quotes > Quotable Quote “She: So where do we go from here? He: Nowhere! She: What do you mean? He: You go your way and I go mine! She: Can we have a future together? He: I don't settle down! I am the wanderer and wandering is my destiny!” ― Avijeet Das

A woman must prefer her liberty over a man. To be happy, she must. A man to be happy, however, must yearn for his woman more than his liberty. This is the rightful order.

Could've smiled and walked away easily, just kept wandering around that same point.

Every man, woman, and child on this earth is a wandering pilgrim in his or her own way—each searching for a belonging place. That sense of belonging is found only as we care for one another.

Cutting my roots and leaving my home and family when I was 18 years old forced me to build my home in other things, like my music, stories and my journey. The last years I have more or less constantly been on my way, on the road, always leaving and never arriving, which also means leaving people. I’ve loved and lost and I have regrets and I miss and no matter how many times you leave, start over, achieve success or travel places it’s other people that matter. People, friends, family, lovers, strangers – they will forever stay with you, even if only through memory. I’ve grown to appreciate people to the deepest core and I’m trying to learn how to tell people what I want to tell them when I have the chance, before it’s too late. …

Each malevolence has a cousin that heals it. I fancy Hurtsickle and Heartsease as herbal enemies –weeds growing in reach of one another; the bite and the balm in balance.

Following the death of his wife, Sam Johnson wrote to the Reverend Mr. Thomas Warton, "I have ever since seemed to myself broken off from mankind; a kind of solitary wanderer in the wilds of life, without any certain direction, or fixed point of view: a gloomy gazer on a world to which I have little relation." But my wife wasn't dead, merely absent.

From the very beginning perplexing and wandering from one ocean to another an everlasting wander

Half the world is wandering, the other half is lost.

He liked city walking. He didn't want to have to go to that place called countryside to take a walk. He wanted to stuff his hands in his pockets, set his internal compass vaguely east or south and wander till he was tired enough to get the bus home.

He tried not to cry as he wondered if he would ever have a home again.

How I wish I was like the water, Flowing so freely with every drop Let my every emotion wonder, No need to start, nor even stop How I wish I was like the fire, Burning with every flame up Leaving a trace of hot desire As a Phoenix raises its' wings up How I wish I was like the earth, Raising each flower from the ground Seeing the beauty of death and birth And then returning to the ground How I wish I was like the wind, Hearing each whisper, sound and thought A lonesome and wandering little wind, Shattering all that has been sought Oh, how I wish I was where you are, Not separated by empty space, so far It seems like we're galaxies apart, But we find hope within our heart And how I wish I was all of the above, So I can come below and yet forget, The beauty of angels which come down like a dove And demons who love with no regret.

Her mind circled Georgia, circled Ebenezer. It called up images and memories and things nearly home but never that final destination itself, as if it existed at the center of her mind, shining like a sun too radiant. She knew there was a face at the center of that radiance. A face too bright. A face she sought and longed for but could no longer bear the light of. She drifted into sleep, circling, circling, circling.

How I miss wandering around with old souls, Aimlessly moving from one place to another How I miss all our dreams and our goals And how we've lost ourselves to find each other Seems like a playful game of hide-n-seek But that's how we'll forever play this life Loving and living the truth that we seek Until embraced we find our way to strive Gazing into strangers' eyes to find our soul mates, Knowing we're so much closer than we thought. Our heart keeps the light that forever radiates Through all the darkness, 'til love is taught And yet again we look into the skies, We see the stars, the moon, that light Missing our home beyond the nights Living in love until the end of the fight.

I am the wanderer and you are my destiny!

I am as restless a traveller in my own land as a wintering whooper swan.

I believe each of us is a pilgrim in our own way; we are all lost souls, trying to find our way home.

If God gives you a seed, He expects you to plant it;if He plants it for you, He expects you to water it; if He waters it for you, He expects you to prune it; if He prunes and keeps it for you, He expects you to harvest it; if He harvest it for you, He expects you to store it; if He stores it for you,He expects you to keep it safe from getting rotten and if He keeps it from getting rotten for you, He expects you to account for the seed.Yes!Life is all about purposefully fulfilling a purpose. We are expected to be doing something at each moment in our life or we live without purposefully living.

I am running and singing and when it’s raining I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I’m the one waking up at 4am to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I’ve made of myself.

If you keep wandering in the dark streets, may be it is because you find peace in the darkness rather than in the light!

If you lead me astray, then my wanderings will bring me to my destination.

I had no goals, no ambitions. That left me free to wander and amuse myself.

In my errant life I roamed To learn the secrets of women and men, Of gods and dreams. I've known all the countries of our world, I've lived a thousand lives: Many lives I lived in love, Other lives I squandered. For in my life I never traveled, All I did was wander.

A drop of darkness above me hung,within me ruined Rome,within me demolished Rome, where those lands my dream would well travel, before that I want to die without blame,so let me see ten thousand moons to Dream.

I have been wandering for long. I have been drifting for long. Missing home!

...I have often wondered why we do it. Uproot ourselves, I mean. Why we feel the need to travel and wander into strange soil. Why we can't leave things alone. It must be the world calling to us. After all, they say it had been one giant continent once. Maybe this is why we feel drawn to each other, to the lands we cannot see. We think of new places as opportunities to build new lives, but all are we're really doing is trying to find our way back.

I love uncertainty, the feeling of being lost. When you're lost, you're free.

I'm a wanderer. But i don't wander to explore the outer physical world , I do it to explore the universe inside me.

In coming to Alaska, McCandless yearned to wander uncharted country, to find a blank spot on the map. In 1992, however, there were no more blank spots on the map—-not in Alaska, not anywhere. But Chris, with his idiosyncratic logic, came up with an elegant solution to this dilemma: He simply got rid of the map. In his own mind, if nowhere else, the terra would thereby remain incognita.

I never plan for the future but wander into it with a smile on my face, hope in my heart, and the hair up on the nape of my neck.

I spend my days and nights wandering from place to place with not a care or grace..

It all takes time and lessons and places, but I’m learning to listen to my restless heart, telling me to “go, go, go!

It had the tangled floor plan common to all hospitals, seemingly designed by someone who believed in the healing power of watching confused visitors aimlessly wander around hallways.

It’s the beating of my heart. The way I lie awake, playing with shadows slowly climbing up my wall. The gentle moonlight slipping through my window and the sound of a lonely car somewhere far away, where I long to be too, I think. It’s the way I thought my restless wandering was over, that I’d found whatever I thought I had found, or wanted, or needed, and I started to collect my belongings. Build a home. Safe behind the comfort of these four walls and a closed door. Because as much as I tried or pretended or imagined myself as a part of all the people out there, I was still the one locking the door every night. Turning off the phone and blowing out the candles so no one knew I was home. ’cause I was never really well around the expectations of my personality and I wanted to keep to myself. and because I haven’t been very impressed lately. By people, or places. Or the way someone said he loved me and then slowly changed his mind.

In the boundaryless forests, there’re dancers of nude. Yet in the confines of pasture, there’s promise of food. On which is your side? Ô, but tarry and bide, ere you decide, in both do confide.

I’ve just been wandering the streets at night. If I came by a German soldier out alone, I would follow him, shove the pistol to the back of his head, and shoot. Once, I even did two at the same time, but they were really drunk.” Poul-Erik aka ‘Willy’ The Informer by Steen Langstrup

It might be well enough to wander if you've a place and people to come back to, but I tell you now there's no desolation like wanting to go home and truly not knowing where it is.

I was running and deliberately lost my way. The world far off and nothing but my breath and the very next step and it’s like hypnosis. The feeling of conquering my own aliveness with no task but to keep going, making every way the right away and that’s a metaphor for everything.

I was wandering lonely and lost, till the music you played pulled my soul into a vortex of emotions, reminding me that I was still alive

I will never lose the love for the arriving, but I'm born to leave.

My life was a hard and difficult desert. I was wandering aimlessly. I was a nomad. I was a wanderer. I was a drifter. Why was I drifting? Yes, I wish I knew why? I was not aware of the reason myself. Why was I drifting?

Now that I am past picking the knife to stab one, the reward of stabbing a few more comes at an unfairly lower risk!

Oh Kabira, where are you going? Are you going away again? Have you forsaken your true love? Have you forgotten your own own words? The night will never end And the stars will keep on shining Are you going to be sad, forever? Are you going to be a wanderer, forever? You will never find sleep in your eyes Because your mind keeps on drifting If you keep on this drifting You will never sleep in your life For some people life means drifting Wandering from place to place They hitch-hike and walk Traveling on the endless road of Life Oh Kabira, where are you going? Are you going away again? Have you forsaken your true love? Have you forgotten your own words?

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion, let me relive my Love’s memory, to remember her body, so brave and so free, and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me, and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me, Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent. When she came to my bed and begged me with sighs not to tempt her towards passion nor actions unwise, I told her I’d spare her and kissed her closed eyes, then unbraided her body of its clothing disguise. While our bodies were nude bathed in candlelight fine I devoured her mouth, tender lips divine; and I drank through her thighs her feminine wine. Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.