“If you knew what lies ahead on the path, it would not be an adventure, now would it?”
“It s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it s another to think yours is the only path.”
“A path is a prior interpretation of the best way to traverse a landscape.”
“You never find riches on a well trodden path.”
“As one gets older one sees many more paths that could be taken. Artists sense within their own work that kind of swelling of possibilities, which may seem a confusion, or a freedom.”
“End? No, the journey doesn t end here. Death is just another path. One that we all must take.”
“If you are eager to find the reason I became the Kvothe they tell stories about, you could look there, I suppose. Chronicler s forehead wrinkled. What do you mean, exactly? Kvothe paused for a long moment, looking down at his hands. Do you know how many times I ve been beaten over the course of my life? Chronicler shook his head. Looking up, Kvothe grinned and tossed his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. Neither do I. You d think that sort of thing would stick in a person s mind. You d think I would remember how many bones I ve had broken. You d think I d remember the stitches and bandages. He shook his head. I don t. I remember that young boy sobbing in the dark. Clear as a bell after all these years. Chronicler frowned. You said yourself that there was nothing you could have done. I could have, Kvothe said seriously, and I didn t. I made my choice and I regret it to this day. Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever.”
“You wake from dreams of doom and--for a moment--you know: beyond all the noise and the gestures, the only real thing, love s calm unwavering flame in the half-light of an early dawn.”
“In older myths, the dark road leads downward into the Underworld, where Persephone is carried off by Hades, much against her will, while Ishtar descends of her own accord to beat at the gates of Hell. This road of darkness lies to the West, according to Native American myth, and each of us must travel it at some point in our lives. The western road is one of trials, ordeals, disasters and abrupt life changes — yet a road to be honored, nevertheless, as the road on which wisdom is gained. James Hillman, whose theory of archetypal psychology draws extensively on Greco–Roman myth, echoes this belief when he argues that darkness is vital at certain periods of life, questioning our modern tendency to equate mental health with happiness. It is in the Underworld, he reminds us, that seeds germinate and prepare for spring. Myths of descent and rebirth connect the soul s cycles to those of nature.”
“The most important thing in my life is to be the best mother that I can be to my daughter and two sons; full of blessings and love. I can guide them, pray for their goals to be achieved, and follow a good path; but ultimately it will be up to them to live their own lives and make their own choices knowing there are rewards and consequences.”
“Sometimes it feels like all the hard work is not enough to achieve those dreams. When we Keep working towards our purpose, every single day the purpose becomes clearer and the purpose itself gives us the strength and power to walk on destined path.”
“Like wind-- In it, with it, of it. Of it just like a sail, so light and strong that, even when it is bent flat, it gathers all the power of the wind without hampering its course. Like light-- In light, lit through by light, transformed into light. Like the lens which disappears in the light it focuses. Like wind. Like light. Just this--on these expanses, on these heights.”
“It was a fossilized path: the will which had cut this gash out of these solitary places so that the blood and sap would flow there was long since dead - and dead too were the circumstances which had guided this will. A whitish and indurated scar remained, gradually gnawed away by the earth like a flesh that heals itself, yet its direction was still vaguely cut into the horizon; a language and crepuscular sign rather than a way forward - a worn-out lifeline which still vegetated through the fallow land as it does on the palm of a hand. It was so old that, since it had been constructed, the very configuration of the land must have changed imperceptibly.”
“Humility before the flower at the timber line is the gate which gives access to the path up the open fell.”
“Blood had long since ceased to beat from one end to the other, but one could sense, from passages marked with fresher traces of wheels and hooves, that once the meaning and even the very idea of a long journey was lost, sleep had not descended over it in one fell swoop: it had continued to steal a march here and there, in a discontinuous way, and over short distances, like a laborer who feels his cart jolt on a section of Roman road that crosses his field...”
“We are here in a wood of little beeches: And the leaves are like black lace Against a sky of nacre. One bough of clear promise Across the moon. It is in this wise that God speaketh unto me. He layeth hands of healing upon my flesh, Stilling it in an eternal peace, Until my soul reaches out myriad and infinite hands Toward him, And is eased of its hunger. And I know that this passes: This implacable fury and torment of men, As a thing insensate and vain: And the stillness hath said unto me, Over the tumult of sounds and shaken flame, Out of the terrible beauty of wrath, I alone am eternal. One bough of clear promise Across the moon”
“Two footsteps do not make a path.”