Trudging The Road Quotes & Sayings

Trudging alone along that black road, sometimes in the teeth of wind and rain, and watching the white distant gleam of convolvulus through the park railings, gave me an exhilarating sensation of adventure. — Simone De Beauvoir

To convey in any existing language how I miss you isn't possible. It would be like blue trying to describe the ocean. — Mary-Louise Parker

The thing that people associate with expertise, authoritativeness, kind of with a capital 'A,' don't correlate very well with who's actually good at making predictions. — Nate Silver

And over your unconsecrated head
you'll hear the howling wolves
lament their fate and yours the livelong year; — Charles Baudelaire

Two flights of steps bordered either side of the Hill from Hell. I didn't know who constructed them or when, but it was sometime before I was born. Maybe even before Daddy was born. In one stretch, the steps were made of large semiflat stones. In another, wood. In a third, slate. All of them were in terrible disrepair, but it was still easier to climb them than to try to walk up the dirt road itself, especially since Stacy and I were weighed down with our backpacks, slices of pie in Tupperware containers, bottles of Pepsi, and a bunch of cassette tapes. We stopped halfway up to catch our breath. I really didn't need to, but I could tell Stacy was not used to trudging up hills. — Diane Chamberlain

The claim that everybody sees the world differently is not a claim that there's no reality. It's a different kind of claim. — Errol Morris

Would you that ever find yourself walking the Road, trudging without purpose, seeking some journey's end, I give you this warning. The Road is a living being. She is an enchantress and She has a long reach. — Caiseal Mor

Every project starts with a story. — Colleen Atwood

The White Mars [project] is a bold move that will add significantly to our understanding of how to deal with the challenge of human exploration of the Red Planet. — Robert Zubrin

On a pitch black, starless night, a solitary man was trudging along the main road from Marchiennes to Montsou, ten kilometres of cobblestones running straight as a die across the bare plain between fields of beet. — Emile Zola