journeys

Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.

Some journeys in life can only be traveled alone.

If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my lifeAnd you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have rootsRememberThat on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my armsAnd my roots will set off to seek another land

Distance and time might keep people apart, but the heart and mind will always stay connected by memories, miracles and the power of two unlikely souls that were destined to meet.

God doesn__ put that much prep into something that is insignificant.

What lies ahead is often unknown. But keep traveling.

Every good thing comes to some kind of end, and then the really good things come to a beginning again.

Some of the greatest journeys of humankind are those that, at the time being, only the one living it understands.

Blessed are those with cracks in their broken heart because that is how the light gets in.

L I V E or E V I L -- to Live life is to spell forward. To not live life is to spell backwards.

Every journey taken always includes the path not taken, the detour through hell, the crossroads of indecision and the long way home.

Whereas the health of an individual depends on the ego's regular descent and return to and from the unconscious, a society's longevity depends on actual people journeying into the unknown and returning with ideas.

Dignity will only happen when you realize that having someone in your life doesn__ validate your worth.

Our life is like a journey_ _ and so the journey seems to me less an adventure and a foray into unusual realms than a concentrated likeness of our existence: residents of a city, citizens of country, beholden to a class or a social circle, member of a family and clan and entangled by professional duties, by the habits of an __veryday life_ woven from all these circumstances, we often feel too secure, believing our house built for all the future, easily induced to believe in a constancy that makes ageing a problem for one person and each change in external circumstances a catastrophe for another. We forget that this is a process, that the earth is in constant motion and that we too are affected by ebbs and tides, earthquakes and events far beyond our visible and tangible spheres: beggars, kings, figures in the same great game. We forget it for our would-be peace of mind, which then is built on shifting sand. We forget it so as not to fear. And fear makes us stubborn: we call reality only what we can grasp with our hands and what affects us directly, denying the force of the fire that__ sweeping our neighbour__ house, but not yet ours. War in other countries? Just twelve hours, twelve weeks from our borders? God forbid _ the horror that sometimes seizes us, you feel it too when reading history books, time or space, it doesn__ matter what lies between us and it.But the journey ever so slightly lifts the veil over the mystery of space _ and a city with a magical, unreal name, Samarkand the Golden, Astrakhan or Isfahan, City of Rose Attar, becomes real the instant we set foot there and touch it with our living breath.

On a journey the face of reality changes with the mountains and rivers, with the architecture of the buildings, the layout of the gardens, with the language, the skin colour. And yesterday__ reality burns on in the pain of parting; the day before yesterday__ is a finished episode, never to return; what happened a month ago is a dream, a past life. And at last you realize that the course of a life contains nothing but a limited number of such __pisodes_, that a thousand and one accidents determine where we can build our house at last _ but the peace of our poor minds is a precious good freedom that you should not chase, not haggle over, nor should you bargain for it with the dictators who can set fire to our houses, trample our fields and spread cholera overnight.Appalling uncertainty_? Appalling only when we fail to look it in the eyes. But the journey that many may take for an airy dream, an enticing game, liberation from daily routine, freedom as such, is in reality merciless, a school that accustoms us to the inevitable course of events, to encounters and losses, blow upon blow.

Some people can__ be in your life because they don__ have the power to help you improve it. That doesn__ mean you don__ wish them well, it just means that you are on Chapter ten of your life, when they are on Chapter five. Maybe, it is just enough to meet at the crossroads in life and agree to take separate paths, then with a cheshire grin you both look back and shout, __eat you to the top of the mountain_, followed by the funnest sprint of both of your lives.

Reality is a dream that someone was brave enough to conquer.

No two persons can learn something and experience it in the same way.