map

Here. There. Everywhere. Somewhere. Home.

The best parts of life are the things we can't plan. And it's a lot harder to find happiness if you're only searching in one place. Sometimes, you just have to throw away the map. Admit that you don't know where you're going and stop pressuring yourself to figure it out. Besides...a map is a life someone else already lived. It's more fun to make your own.

...there is no map of the soul because we make it up as we go...

The journey of success requires a map for effective navigation. Establish a destination by defining what you want. Once you have a destination, take physical action by making choices that move you towards that destination.

Due north_ on my compass is largely __ue_ to the fact that in __ue_ time I have been __nduly_ lax in recalibrating my compass. And I__ apparently ignorant enough to wonder why I__ lost.

The past informs the present. Memory makes the map we carry, no matter how hard we try to erase it.

If I simply look at the map that I__e so tediously created, it will explain why I__ laying at the bottom of this cliff looking up.

A compass calibrated by my greed is a rather shrewd way to legitimize my agenda. However, true north on a compass such as this is a straight line to the edge of a really big cliff.

Life has no map; it's made of random events, always caused by something beyond your control.

The road from __ere_ to __here_ is a map yet to be written with the pen I hold in my hand.

Could it be that we lost something because had we not lost it, we would have lost ourselves?

You don't throw a compass overboard because the ocean is calm.

Today abstraction is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror, or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being, or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal.

I__e always marveled that geese can feel a call stirring, rise on hardy wings to engage it, and without contemplation, compass or map complete the feat. And could it be that they achieve this astounding accomplishment because far too often contemplation, compass or map rob the call by sterile analysis when we should liberate the call through expectant obedience.

I__ won the worldbut like aforsaken explorer,I__ lostmy map.

Under her thick pancake makeup, her sin had been pockmarked, but he would stare at her adoringly from his cot at night and imagine her scars were constellations, a secret map to a far-off, happy place.

What is a fantasy map but a space beyond which There Be Dragons?

How can you follow your heart, unless you know why you have allowed it to be empty for so long and didn't have the courage to fix it?