wanderlust

The geographical pilgrimage is the symbolic acting out an inner journey. The inner journey is the interpolation of the meanings and signs of the outer pilgrimage. One can have one without the other. It is best to have both.

For I was reared in the great city, pent with cloisters dim,and saw naught lovely but the sky and stars.But thou, my babe! Shalt wander like a breezeBy lakes and sandy shores, beneath the cragsOf ancient mountains, and beneath the clouds,Which image in their bulk both lakes and shoresAnd mountain crags: so shall thou see and hearThe lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy GodUtters, who from eternity doth teachHimself in all, and al things in himselfGreat universal teacher! He shall moldThy spirit and by giving , make it ask.

It's time to change my life and see the world.

The best traveler is one without a camera.

There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't sit still;So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.They range the field and rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.

Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.

The depths of her thoughts will have you never wanting to surface for air...

From centuries ago before the dawn of civilization, I have been wandering. I am the wanderer. I can't stay at one place. I am destined to wander from place to place!And I keep wandering in search of a nothingness. The river embraces me and guides me to swim inside her and to drink the nectar of love from her bosom. She tells me her secrets and I tell her mine. She makes me sensitive and soft.The mountain greets me with respect and guides me to traverse the rocks and crevices of its body! He is strong and vigorous and he appreciates my stamina and toughness.After dusk in the night, the stars smile at me and they show me light to travel in the darkness. They tell me their stories and I tell them mine.The moon embalms me with her love and she kisses me good night. The nightingale sings her song of love when I take rest in the arms of darkness in the night!And after the dawn of the morning, the sun greets me and acknowledges my spirit and strength!I am the wanderer and I keep wandering in search of a nothingness.I am the wanderer and wandering is my destiny!

Through all his years of roving, even on nights like this, he had remained blind to the beauty of the sea, and now his feeling toward it had settled into weary hatred. He knew its effects of blended color, its wide gradations of sound and action, the tireless charm of a sailing ship's effortless movement, the quality of silent distance and the wonder of the skies. Dimly at times, in moments of rare emotion, he had caught a glimpse of the mystic hand that beckons beyond the horizon and felt for a little while the fated urge of the wanderer. But that was in the beginning, long ago when he had first gone to sea, and he had forgotten it.("Fire In The Galley Stove")

all my life i have lived and behaved very much like the sandpiper just running down the edges of different countries and continents, looking for something.

Visions from the gods are gifts alone for those who wander.

What if it's the thereand not the herethat I long for?The wanderand not the wait,the magicin the lost feetstumbling downthe faraway streetand the way the moonnever hangsquite the same.

i took a night drive.i needed to get away.i needed to knowit's okay to goand have no destination,where time moves slowor doesn't exist.that life can be like this,aimless wandering,just breathing,living,driving forever underneath the stars.

I am running and singing and when it__ raining I__ the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it__ cleaning me. I__ 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__ 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__e made of myself.

A person does not grow from the ground like a vine or a tree, one is not part of a plot of land. Mankind has legs so it can wander.

And even if our hearts collided Can I trust it to be what I've always dreamed... No dear, it'll be so much more.

She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.

i was lieing to myself when I thought I was lost, I have never been lost - I just wasn't ready to be found.