Weyes Blood Quotes

I am a voyager - and the voyage cannot mean that I stay at home.

If travel is searching and home what's been found, I'm not stopping. I'm going hunting.

The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

Sometimes you have to travel a long way to find what is near

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadows to the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, We'll wander back and home to bed. Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

Travel is a vanishing act, a solitary trip down a pinched line of geography to oblivion.

Road's in front o' me, Nothin' to do but walk.

I love traveling the States no matter what. I love traveling abroad, going to Japan and Australia. I love it. I never get tired of it.

In order to find, you must first search.

Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below!

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

Farewell! I go to find the Sun!

I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home.

...A traveller is to be reverenced as such. His profession is the best symbol of our life. Going from - toward; it is the history of every one of us. It is a great art to saunter.

We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.

The urge to travel feels magnetic. Two of my favorite words are linked: departure time. And travel whets the emotions, turns upside down the memory bank, and the golden coins scatter.

We travel for romance, we travel for architecture, and we travel to be lost.

Instead of insight, maybe all a man gets is strength to wander for a while.

When the railroad trains moaned, and river-winds blew, bringing echoes through the vale, it was as if a wild hum of voices, the dear voices of everybody he had known, were crying: "Peter, Peter! Where are you going, Peter?" And a big soft gust of rain came down. He put up the collar of his jacket, and bowed his head, and hurried along.

Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.

Farewell we call to hearth and hall! Though wind may blow and rain may fall. We must away ere the break of day. Far over wood and mountain tall.