Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
There is nothing like walking to get the feel of a country. A fine landscape is like a piece of music; it must be taken at the right tempo. Even a bicycle goes too fast.
Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.
My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She’s ninety-three today, and we don’t know where the hell she is.
In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, lively may I walk. It is finished in beauty.
When you’re traveling, you are what you are, right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.
. . . who drove cross-country seventy-two hours to find out if I had a vision or you / had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity.
Thanks to the interstate highway system, it is now possible to travel across the country from coast to coast without seeing anything.
Often I feel I go to some distant region of the world to be reminded of who I really am. There is no mystery about why this should be so. Stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your refrigerator full of your food, your closet full of your clothes — with all this taken away, you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inevitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience. That’s not always comfortable, but it is always invigorating.
We borrow the light of an observant and imaginative traveler and see the foreign land bright with his aura; and we think it is the country which shines.
Traveling is a fool’s paradise. . . . I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from.
I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.
Each instant is a place we’ve never been.
The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.
Wherever you go, the sky is the same color.
Photographer Yousuf Karsh and his wife were having lunch with astronaut Neil Armstrong after a photo session. Armstrong politely questioned the couple about the many different countries they had visited. “But, Mr. Armstrong,” protested Mrs. Karsh, “you’ve walked on the moon. We want to hear about your travels.”
“But that’s the only place I’ve ever been,” replied Armstrong apologetically.
If a place is in your blood, you leave it at your peril. You will never be happy anywhere else.
Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind!
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
Where are we really going? Always home!
