Luggage Travel Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Luggage Travel. Here they are! All 63 of them:

Don't let your luggage define your travels, each life unravels differently.
Shane L. Koyczan
Did you ever notice that the first piece of luggage on the carousel never belongs to anyone?
Erma Bombeck
Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags. And while those bags might hold a few hazy recollections—a diner with a jukebox at the table, being pushed on a swing set, the way it felt to be picked up and spun around—it didn’t seem enough to last a whole lifetime.
Jennifer E. Smith (This Is What Happy Looks Like (This is What Happy Looks Like, #1))
Are You Ready for New Urban Fragrances? Yeah, I guess I'm ready, but listen: Perfume is a disguise. Since the middle ages, we have worn masks of fruit and flowers in order to conceal from ourselves the meaty essence of our humanity. We appreciate the sexual attractant of the rose, the ripeness of the orange, more than we honor our own ripe carnality. Now today we want to perfume our cities, as well; to replace their stinging fumes of disturbed fossils' sleep with the scent of gardens and orchards. Yet, humans are not bees any more than they are blossoms. If we must pull an olfactory hood over our urban environment, let it be of a different nature. I want to travel on a train that smells like snowflakes. I want to sip in cafes that smell like comets. Under the pressure of my step, I want the streets to emit the precise odor of a diamond necklace. I want the newspapers I read to smell like the violins left in pawnshops by weeping hobos on Christmas Eve. I want to carry luggage that reeks of the neurons in Einstein's brain. I want a city's gases to smell like the golden belly hairs of the gods. And when I gaze at a televised picture of the moon, I want to detect, from a distance of 239,000 miles, the aroma of fresh mozzarella.
Tom Robbins (Wild Ducks Flying Backward)
There are countries out there where people speak English. But not like us - we have our own languages hidden in our carry-on luggage, in our cosmetics bags, only ever using English when we travel, and then only in foreign countries, to foreign people. It's hard to imagine, but English is the real language! Oftentimes their only language. They don't have anything to fall back on or to turn to in moments of doubt. How lost they must feel in the world, where all instructions, all the lurics of all the stupidest possible songs, all the menus, all the excruciating pamphlets and brochures - even the buttons in the lift! - are in their private language. They may be understood by anuone at any moment, whenever they open their mouths. They must have to write things down in special codes. Wherever they are, people have unlimited access to them - they are accessible to everyone and everything! I heard there are plans in the works to get them some little language of their own, one of those dead ones no one else is using anyway, just so that for once they can have something just for them.
Olga Tokarczuk (Flights)
To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world. You are surrounded by adventure. You have no idea of what is in store for you, but you will, if you are wise and know the art of travel, let yourself go on the stream of the unknown and accept whatever comes in the spirit in which the gods may offer it. For this reason your customary thoughts, all except the rarest of your friends, even most of your luggage - everything, in fact, which belongs to your everyday life, is merely a hindrance. The tourist travels in his own atmosphere like a snail in his shell and stands, as it were, on his own perambulating doorstep to look at the continents of the world. But if you discard all this, and sally forth with a leisurely and blank mind, there is no knowing what may not happen to you.
Freya Stark (Baghdad Sketches (Travel))
Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags
Jennifer E. Smith (This Is What Happy Looks Like (This is What Happy Looks Like, #1))
The forest of Skund was indeed enchanted, which was nothing unusual on the Disc, and was also the only forest in the whole universe to be called -- in the local language -- Your Finger You Fool, which was the literal meaning of the word Skund. The reason for this is regrettably all too common. When the first explorers from the warm lands around the Circle Sea travelled into the chilly hinterland they filled in the blank spaces on their maps by grabbing the nearest native, pointing at some distant landmark, speaking very clearly in a loud voice, and writing down whatever the bemused man told them. Thus were immortalised in generations of atlases such geographical oddities as Just A Mountain, I Don't Know, What? and, of course, Your Finger You Fool. Rainclouds clustered around the bald heights of Mt. Oolskunrahod ('Who is this Fool who does Not Know what a Mountain is') and the Luggage settled itself more comfortably under a dripping tree, which tried unsuccessfully to strike up a conversation.
Terry Pratchett (The Light Fantastic (Discworld, #2; Rincewind #2))
After a bad trip, don't carry your luggage on board the next flight. Stay grounded til you figure out a new way to travel.
T.F. Hodge (From Within I Rise: Spiritual Triumph Over Death and Conscious Encounters with "The Divine Presence")
In the airport, luggage-laden people rush hither and yon through endless corridors, like souls to each of whom the devil has furnished a different, inaccurate map of the escape route from hell.
Ursula K. Le Guin (Changing Planes)
I came to see myself one day and it was like looking into a mirror. I came to see that at any given moment, I am both equally ready to stay and to leave. It’s like I always have my luggage with me and I can unpack or repack on short notice. I guess that’s something you can call a traveler’s heart. You are ready to stay with every atom in your body; but you are also ready to leave that way. You’re not afraid of forever but you’re also not afraid of nothing at all.
C. JoyBell C.
While God sustains the burden of the world, the spurious ego assumes its burden, grimacing like an image on a tower, seeming to support it. If the traveller in a carriage, which can carry any weight, does not lay his luggage down but carries it painfully on his head, whose is the fault?
Ramana Maharshi (Collected works of Ramana Maharshi)
It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the expression "as pretty as an airport". Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (...) and the architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs. They have sought to highlight the tiredness and crossness motif with brutal shapes and nerve jangling colours, to make effortless the business of separating the traveller from his or her luggage or loved ones, to confuse the traveller with arrows that appear to point at the windows, distant tie racks, or the current position of the Ursa Minor in the night sky, and wherever possible to expose the plumbing on the grounds that it is functional, and conceal the location of the departure gates, presumably on the grounds that they are not".
Douglas Adams (The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul (Dirk Gently, #2))
Elegant presents soon followed. Leather luggage for Jesse's travels and a lovely mink-lined coat to keep her warm in the 'abominable British weather.' It is a country 'only a Druid could love,' Maharet wrote.
Anne Rice (The Queen of the Damned (The Vampire Chronicles, #3))
Don't let your luggage define your travels, each life unravels differently.” ― Shane Koyczan   ~Duane~
Penny Reid (Truth or Beard (Winston Brothers, #1))
If he believed it all, he was just like those theologians who store their theology somewhere in a locked compartment of the brain, or rather, perhaps, like those travellers who carry a bottle of iodine in their luggage and take care to keep it tightly corked in case it leaks and ruins their belongings.
Halldór Laxness (The Fish Can Sing)
Traveling all alone,are you?" One of them asked with what could be described only as a leer worthy of any penny dreadful. Blast. "Let me pass," I demanded. Where the devil was everyone? "There's a toll,love," he insisted. "Didn't you know?" We were well hidden by the luggage and a shroud of steam,thick as London fog. The third boy looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted to stop his companions but didn't know how. Fat lot of good his squirming would do me. "Give us a kiss,then.
Alyxandra Harvey (Haunting Violet (Haunting Violet, #1))
I was a crazy creature with a head full of carnival spangles until I was thirty, and then the only man I ever really cared for stopped waiting and married someone else. So in spite, in anger at myself, I told myself I deserved my: fate for not having married when the best chance was at hand. I started traveling. My luggage was snowed under blizzards of travel stickers. I have been alone in Paris, alone in Vienna, alone in London, and all in all, it is very much like being alone in Green Town, Illinois. It is, in essence, being alone. Oh, you have plenty of time to think, improve your manners, sharpen your conversations. But I sometimes think I could easily trade a verb tense or a curtsy for some company that would stay over for a thirty-year weekend.
Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine (Green Town, #1))
There is a difference between arrival and entrance. Arrival is physical and happens all at once. The train pulls in, the plan touches down, you get out of the taxi with all your luggage. You can arrive a place and never really enter it; you get there, look around, take a few pictures, make a few notes, send postcards home. When you travel like this, you think you know where you are, but, in fact, you have never left home. Entering takes longer. You cross over, slowly, in bits and pieces. […] It is like awakening slowly, over a period of weeks. And then one morning, you open your eyes and you are finally here, really and truly here. You are just beginning to know where you are.
Jamie Zeppa
We all travelled light, taking with us only what we considered to be the bare essentials of life. When we opened our luggage for Customs inspection, the contents of our bags were a fair indication of character and interests. Thus Margo’s luggage contained a multitude of diaphanous garments, three books on slimming, and a regiment of small bottles each containing some elixir guaranteed to cure acne. Leslie’s case held a couple of roll-top pullovers and a pair of trousers which were wrapped round two revolvers, an air-pistol, a book called Be Your Own Gunsmith, and a large bottle of oil that leaked. Larry was accompanied by two trunks of books and a brief-case containing his clothes. Mother’s luggage was sensibly divided between clothes and various volumes on cooking and gardening. I travelled with only those items that I thought necessary to relieve the tedium of a long journey: four books on natural history, a butterfly net, a dog, and a jam-jar full of caterpillars all in imminent danger of turning into chrysalids. Thus, by our standards fully equipped, we left the clammy shores of England.
Gerald Durrell
If we are inclined to forget how much there is in the world besides that which we anticipate, then works of art are perhaps a little to blame, for in them we find at work the same process of simplification or selection as in the imagination. Artistic accounts include severe abbreviations of what reality will force upon us. A travel book may tell us, for example, that the narrator journeyed through the afternoon to reach the hill town of X and after a night in its medieval monastery awoke to a misty dawn. But we never simply 'journey through an afternoon'. We sit in a train. Lunch digests awkwardly within us. The seat cloth is grey. We look out the window at a field. We look back inside. A drum of anxieties resolves in our consciousness. We notice a luggage label affixed to a suitcase in a rack above the seats opposite. We tap a finger on the window ledge. A broken nail on an index finger catches a thread. It starts to rain. A drop wends a muddy path down the dust-coated window. We wonder where our ticket might be. We look back at the field. It continues to rain. At last, the train starts to move. It passes an iron bridge, after which it inexplicably stops. A fly lands on the window And still we may have reached the end only of the first minute of a comprehensive account of the events lurking within the deceptive sentence 'He journeyed through the afternoon'. A storyteller who provides us with such a profusion of details would rapidly grow maddening. Unfortunately, life itself often subscribes to this mode of storytelling, wearking us out with repetitions, misleading emphases[,] and inconsequential plot lines. It insists on showing us Burdak Electronics, the safety handle in the car, a stray dog, a Christmas card[,] and a fly that lands first on the rim and then the centre of a laden ashtray. Which explains the curious phenomenon whereby valuable elements may be easier to experience in art and in anticipation than in reality. The anticipatory and artistic imaginations omit and compress; they cut away the periods of boredom and direct our attention to critical moments, and thus, without either lying or embellishing, they lend to life a vividness and a coherence that it may lack in the distracting woolliness of the present.
Alain de Botton (The Art of Travel)
Before setting foot in the Holy of the Holies you must take off your shoes, yet not only your shoes, but everything; you must take off your traveling-garment and lay down your luggage; and under that you must shed your nakedness and everything that is under the nakedness and everything that hides beneath that, and then the core and the core of the core, then the remainder and then the residue and then even the Holy of the Holies and let yourself be absorbed by it; neither can resist the other.
Franz Kafka
Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags.
Jennifer E. Smith (This Is What Happy Looks Like (This is What Happy Looks Like, #1))
I started traveling. My luggage was snowed under blizzards of travel stickers. I have been alone in Paris, alone in Vienna, alone in London, and all in all, it is very much like being alone in Green Town, Illinois. It is, in essence, being alone. Oh, you have plenty of time to think, improve your manners, sharpen your conversations. But I sometimes think I could easily trade a verb tense or a curtsy for some company that would stay over for a thirty-year weekend.
Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine (Green Town, #1))
When a traveller talks to you perpetually about the splendour of his luggage, which he does not happen to have with him, my son, beware of that traveller! He is, ten to one, an imposter. Neither Jos nor Emmy knew this important maxim.
William Makepeace Thackeray (Vanity Fair)
How did I find myself here? Me—the man who wanted to walk around the world? On foot, no less. I wanted to be Passepartout, a traveller with little luggage, hopping from one train to another, a Thomas Cook, an Ibn Battuta. Where is Xanadu?
Fadia Faqir
A man opposite me shifted his feet, accidentally brushing his foot against mine. It was a gentle touch, barely noticeable, but the man immediately reached out to touch my knee and then his own chest with the fingertips of his right hand, in the Indian gesture of apology for an unintended offence. In the carriage and the corridor beyond, the other passengers were similarly respectful, sharing, and solicitous with one another. At first, on that first journey out of the city into India, I found such sudden politeness infuriating after the violent scramble to board the train. It seemed hypocritical for them to show such deferential concern over a nudge with a foot when, minutes before, they'd all but pushed one another out of the windows. Now, long years and many journeys after that first ride on a crowded rural train, I know that the scrambled fighting and courteous deference were both expressions of the one philosophy: the doctrine of necessity. The amount of force and violence necessary to board the train, for example, was no less and no more than the amount of politeness and consideration necessary to ensure that the cramped journey was as pleasant as possible afterwards. What is necessary! That was the unspoken but implied and unavoidable question everywhere in India. When I understood that, a great many of the characteristically perplexing aspects of public life became comprehensible: from the acceptance of sprawling slums by city authorities, to the freedom that cows had to roam at random in the midst of traffic; from the toleration of beggars on the streets, to the concatenate complexity of the bureaucracies; and from the gorgeous, unashamed escapism of Bollywood movies, to the accommodation of hundreds of thousands of refugees from Tibet, Iran, Afghanistan, Africa, and Bangladesh, in a country that was already too crowded with sorrows and needs of its own. The real hypocrisy, I came to realise, was in the eyes and minds and criticisms of those who came from lands of plenty, where none had to fight for a seat on a train. Even on that first train ride, I knew in my heart that Didier had been right when he'd compared India and its billion souls to France. I had an intuition, echoing his thought, that if there were a billion Frenchmen or Australians or Americans living in such a small space, the fighting to board the train would be much more, and the courtesy afterwards much less. And in truth, the politeness and consideration shown by the peasant farmers, travelling salesmen, itinerant workers, and returning sons and fathers and husbands did make for an agreeable journey, despite the cramped conditions and relentlessly increasing heat. Every available centimetre of seating space was occupied, even to the sturdy metal luggage racks over our heads. The men in the corridor took turns to sit or squat on a section of floor that had been set aside and cleaned for the purpose. Every man felt the press of at least two other bodies against his own. Yet there wasn't a single display of grouchiness or bad temper
Gregory David Roberts
This trip began one lovely summer morning and nothing foretold of the troubles ahead. We didn’t know then what a huge mistake we had made: we did not bother to put locks on our travel bags or at least to wrap them. We were naïve and did not do anything to protect our luggage.
Sahara Sanders (MALDIVES... THE PARADISE (ALL AROUND THE WORLD: A Series of Travel Guides Book 1))
People in the real world always say, when something terrible happens, that the sadness and loss and aching pain of the heart will “lessen as time passes,” but it isn’t true. Sorrow and loss are constant, but if we all had to go through our whole lives carrying them the whole time, we wouldn’t be able to stand it. The sadness would paralyze us. So in the end we just pack it into bags and find somewhere to leave it. That is what Miploris is: a kingdom where lone storytelling travelers come slowly wandering from all directions, dragging unwieldy luggage full of sorrow. A place where they can put it down and go back to life. And when the travelers turn back, they do so with lighter steps, because Miploris is constructed in such a way that irrespective of what direction you leave it, you always have the sun up ahead and the wind at your back.
Fredrik Backman
I hear it then, the music I forgot along the journey. It swells until it drowns out the overhead announcements and the sounds of busy travelers rushing along, their luggage wheels squeaking behind them. Mom rests her hand on my back. She says nothing, but the warmth of her touch is enough. Just like it is enough to wear this one face I’ve been given. To believe that God sent His grace to watch over me in my darkest hour. And to know that someday, maybe not today, but someday, I’ll even dance again.
Juliann Rich (Searching for Grace (Crossfire, #2))
Anna? Anna,are you there? I've been waiting in the lobby for fifteen minutes." A scrambling noise,and St. Clair curses from the floorboards. "And I see your light's off.Brilliant. Could've mentioned you'd decided to go on without me." I explode out of bed. I overslept! I can't believe I overslept! How could this happen? St. Clair's boots clomp away,and his suitcase drags heavily behind him. I throw open my door. Even though they're dimmed this time of night,the crystal sconces in the hall make me blink and shade my eyes. St. Clair twists into focus.He's stunned. "Anna?" "Help," I gasp. "Help me." He drops his suitcase and runs to me. "Are you all right? What happened?" I pull him in and flick on my light. The room is illuminated in its disheveled entirety. My luggage with its zippers open and clothes piled on top like acrobats. Toiletries scattered around my sink. Bedsheets twined into ropes. And me. Belatedly, I remember that not only is my hair crazy and my face smeared with zit cream,but I'm also wearing matching flannel Batman pajamas. "No way." He's gleeful. "You slept in? I woke you up?" I fall to the floor and frantically squish clothes into my suitcase. "You haven't packed yet?" "I was gonna finish this morning! WOULD YOU FREAKING HELP ALREADY?" I tug on a zipper.It catches a yellow Bat symbol, and I scream in frustration. We're going to miss our flight. We're going to iss it,and it's my fault. And who knows when the next plane will leave, and we'll be stuck here all day, and I'll never make it in time for Bridge and Toph's show. And St. Clair's mom will cry when she has to go to the hospital without him for her first round of internal radiation, because he'll be stuck iin an airport on the other side of the world,and its ALL. MY FAULT. "Okay,okay." He takes the zipper and wiggles it from my pajama bottoms. I make a strange sound between a moan and a squeal. The suitcase finally lets go, and St. Clair rests his arms on my shoulders to steady them. "Get dressed. Wipe your face off.I'll takecare of the rest." Yes,one thing at a time.I can do this. I can do this. ARRRGH! He packs my clothes. Don't think about him touching your underwear. Do NOT think about him touching your underwear. I grab my travel outfit-thankfully laid out the night before-and freeze. "Um." St. Clair looks up and sees me holding my jeans. He sputters. "I'll, I'll step out-" "Turn around.Just turn around, there's not time!" He quickly turns,and his shoulders hunch low over my suitcase to prove by posture how hard he is Not Looking.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
There’s a particular grubbiness that comes with travel. You start showered and fresh in clean and comfortable clothes, upbeat and hopeful that this will be like travel in the movies; sunlight flaring on the windows, heads resting on shoulders, laughter and smiles with a lightly jazzy soundtrack. But in reality the grubbiness has set in before you’ve even cleared security; grime on your collar and cuffs, coffee breath, perspiration running down your back, the luggage too heavy, the distances too far, muddled currency in your pocket, the conversation self-conscious and abrupt, no stillness, no peace.
David Nicholls (Us)
There were some hours to spare before his ship sailed, and having deposited his luggage, including a locked leather despatch-case, on board, he lunched at the Cafe Tewfik near the quay. There was a garden in front of it with palm trees and trellises gaily clad in bougainvillias: a low wooden rail separated it from the street, and Morris had a table close to this. As he ate he watched the polychromatic pageant of Eastern life passing by: there were Egyptian officials in broad-cloth frock coats and red fezzes; barefooted splay-toed fellahin in blue gabardines; veiled women in white making stealthy eyes at passers-by; half-naked gutter-snipe, one with a sprig of scarlet hibiscus behind his ear; travellers from India with solar tepees and an air of aloof British Superiority; dishevelled sons of the Prophet in green turbans, a stately sheik in a white burnous; French painted ladies of a professional class with lace-rimmed parasols and provocative glances; a wild-eyed dervish in an accordion-pleated skirt, chewing betel-nut and slightly foaming at the mouth. A Greek boot-black with box adorned with brass plaques tapped his brushes on it to encourage customers, an Egyptian girl squatted in the gutter beside a gramophone, steamers passing into the Canal hooted on their syrens. ("Monkeys")
E.F. Benson (The Mummy Walks Among Us)
Because it wasn’t enough to be accompanied by the beast who scared the crap out of every god in Heaven, Xuanzang was assigned a few more traveling companions. The gluttonous pig-man Zhu Baijie. Sha Wujing, the repentant sand demon. And the Dragon Prince of the West Sea, who took the form of a horse for Xuanzang to ride. The five adventurers, thusly gathered, set off on their— “Holy ballsacks!” I yelped. I dropped the book like I’d been bitten. “How far did you get?” Quentin said. He was leaning against the end of the nearest shelf, as casually as if he’d been there the whole time, waiting for this moment. I ignored that he’d snuck up on me again, just this once. There was a bigger issue at play. In the book was an illustration of the group done up in bold lines and bright colors. There was Sun Wukong at the front, dressed in a beggar’s cassock, holding his Ruyi Jingu Bang in one hand and the reins of the Dragon Horse in the other. A scary-looking pig-faced man and a wide-eyed demon monk followed, carrying the luggage. And perched on top of the horse was . . . me. The artist had tried to give Xuanzang delicate, beatific features and ended up with a rather girly face. By whatever coincidence, the drawing of Sun Wukong’s old master could have been a rough caricature of sixteen-year-old Eugenia Lo from Santa Firenza, California. “That’s who you think I am?” I said to Quentin. “That’s who I know you are,” he answered. “My dearest friend. My boon companion. You’ve reincarnated into such a different form, but I’d recognize you anywhere. Your spiritual energies are unmistakable.” “Are you sure? If you’re from a long time ago, maybe your memory’s a little fuzzy.” “The realms beyond Earth exist on a different time scale,” Quentin said. “Only one day among the gods passes for every human year. To me, you haven’t been gone long. Months, not centuries.” “This is just . . . I don’t know.” I took a moment to assemble my words. “You can’t walk up to me and expect me to believe right away that I’m the reincarnation of some legendary monk from a folk tale.” “Wait, what?” Quentin squinted at me in confusion. “I said you can’t expect me to go, ‘okay, I’m Xuanzang,’ just because you tell me so.” Quentin’s mouth opened slowly like the dawning of the sun. His face went from confusion to understanding to horror and then finally to laughter. “mmmmphhhhghAHAHAHAHA!” he roared. He nearly toppled over, trying to hold his sides in. “HAHAHAHA!” “What the hell is so funny?” “You,” Quentin said through his giggles. “You’re not Xuanzang. Xuanzang was meek and mild. A friend to all living things. You think that sounds like you?” It did not. But then again I wasn’t the one trying to make a case here. “Xuanzang was delicate like a chrysanthemum.” Quentin was getting a kick out of this. “You are so tough you snapped the battleaxe of the Mighty Miracle God like a twig. Xuanzang cried over squashing a mosquito. You, on the other hand, have killed more demons than the Catholic Church.” I was starting to get annoyed. “Okay, then who the hell am I supposed to be?” If he thought I was the pig, then this whole deal was off. “You’re my weapon,” he said. “You’re the Ruyi Jingu Bang.” I punched Quentin as hard as I could in the face.
F.C. Yee (The Epic Crush of Genie Lo (The Epic Crush of Genie Lo, #1))
Like God, you hover above the page staring down on a small town. Outside a window some scenery loafs in a sleepy hammock of pastoral prose and here is a mongrel loping and here is a train approaching the station in three long sentences and here are the people in galoshes waiting. But you know this story about the galoshes is really About Your Life, so, like a diver climbing over the side of a boat and down into the ocean, you climb, sentence by sentence, into this story on this page. You have been expecting yourself as a woman who purrs by in a dress by Patou, and a porter manacled to the luggage, and a man stalking across the page like a black cloud in a bad mood. These are your fellow travelers and you are a face behind or inside these faces, a heartbeat in the volley of these heartbeats, as you choose, out of all the journeys, the journey of a man with a mustache scented faintly with Prince Albert. "He must be a secret sensualist," you think and your awareness drifts to his trench coat, worn, softened, and flabby, a coat with a lobotomy, just as the train pulls into the station. No, you would prefer another stop in a later chapter where the climate is affable and sleek. But the passengers are disembarking, and you did not choose to be in the story of the woman in the white dress which is as cool and evil as a glass of radioactive milk. You did not choose to be in the story of the matron whose bosom is like the prow of a ship and who is launched toward lunch at the Hotel Pierre, or even the story of the dog-on-a-leash, even though this is now your story: the story of the person-who-had-to-take-the-train-and-walk- the-dark-road described hurriedly by someone sitting at the tavern so you could discover it, although you knew all along the road would be there, you, who have been hovering above this page, holding the book in your hands, like God, reading.
Lynn Emanuel
However, as legal scholar David Cole has observed, “in practice, the drug-courier profile is a scattershot hodgepodge of traits and characteristics so expansive that it potentially justifies stopping anybody and everybody.”29 The profile can include traveling with luggage, traveling without luggage, driving an expensive car, driving a car that needs repairs, driving with out-of-state license plates, driving a rental car, driving with “mismatched occupants,” acting too calm, acting too nervous, dressing casually, wearing expensive clothing or jewelry, being one of the first to deplane, being one of the last to deplane, deplaning in the middle, paying for a ticket in cash, using large-denomination currency, using small-denomination currency, traveling alone, traveling with a companion, and so on. Even striving to obey the law fits the profile! The Florida Highway Patrol Drug Courier Profile cautioned troopers to be suspicious of “scrupulous obedience to traffic laws.”30 As Cole points out, “such profiles do not so much focus an investigation as provide law enforcement officials a ready-made excuse for stopping whomever they please.”31
Michelle Alexander (The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness)
Whatever the final cost of HS2, all those tens of billions could clearly buy lots of things more generally useful to society than a quicker ride to Birmingham. Then there is all the destruction of the countryside. A high-speed rail line offers nothing in the way of charm. It is a motorway for trains. It would create a permanent very noisy, hyper-visible scar across a great deal of classic British countryside, and disrupt and make miserable the lives of hundreds of thousands of people throughout its years of construction. If the outcome were something truly marvellous, then perhaps that would be a justifiable price to pay, but a fast train to Birmingham is never going to be marvellous. The best it can ever be is a fast train to Birmingham. Remarkably, the new line doesn’t hook up to most of the places people might reasonably want to go to. Passengers from the north who need to get to Heathrow will have to change trains at Old Oak Common, with all their luggage, and travel the last twelve miles on another service. Getting to Gatwick will be even harder. If they want to catch a train to Europe, they will have to get off at Euston station and make their way half a mile along the Euston Road to St Pancras. It has actually been suggested that travelators could be installed for that journey. Can you imagine travelling half a mile on travelators? Somebody find me the person who came up with that notion. I’ll get the horsewhip. Now here’s my idea. Why not keep the journey times the same but make the trains so comfortable and relaxing that people won’t want the trip to end? Instead, they could pass the time staring out the window at all the gleaming hospitals, schools, playing fields and gorgeously maintained countryside that the billions of saved pounds had paid for. Alternatively, you could just put a steam locomotive in front of the train, make all the seats inside wooden and have it run entirely by volunteers. People would come from all over the country to ride on it. In either case, if any money was left over, perhaps a little of it could be used to fit trains with toilets that don’t flush directly on to the tracks, so that when I sit on a platform at a place like Cambridge or Oxford glumly eating a WH Smith sandwich I don’t have to watch blackbirds fighting over tattered fragments of human waste and toilet paper. It is, let’s face it, hard enough to eat a WH Smith sandwich as it is.
Bill Bryson (The Road to Little Dribbling: Adventures of an American in Britain)
(Until the 1980s English Customs officers were instructed to treat any traveller carrying condoms in their luggage as a suspect person, and to search for drugs or other unlawful items.)
Richard Davenport-Hines (Universal Man: The Lives of John Maynard Keynes)
The loading took 30 minutes, plus another ten inside as the crew argued with irate travelers about their luggage, demanding random pieces be checked because of “luggage privilege.
Kurt Schlichter (Indian Country (Kelly Turnbull #2))
A RIPE EXPERIENCE OF GERMAN pillows in country places leads me to urge the intending traveller to be sure to take his own. The native pillows are mere bags, in which feathers may have been once. There is no substance in them at all. They are of a horrid flabbiness. And they have, of course, the common drawback of all public pillows, they are haunted by the nightmares of other people. A pillow, it is true, takes up a great deal of room in one’s luggage, but
Elizabeth von Arnim (The Elizabeth von Arnim Collection)
I once traveled to India to buy a specific book that I couldn't find anywhere else. After reading it, I had to get rid of it, because it was too heavy to carry in my luggage. And so, when traveling in Portugal, I tried to sell it. When I found that nobody was willing to pay for it, I tried offering it to different bookshops. Again, people would refuse the book, many times, without even looking at the cover or the content. And that's when I realized that nations do deserve the misery they face. They deserve their poverty, their challenges and their suffering. Whoever commits such a crime against knowledge, deserves death. And from that moment on, I wished nothing else to the Portuguese but their annihilation from history. Their prehistoric ignorance found among their bookshop keepers, lecturers and politicians, is indeed very representative of the prehistoric and cruel level of a nation that should perish forever. For no nation that commits crimes against literature, knowledge, geniuses and artists should ever exist on Earth.
Robin Sacredfire
Understand that the size of the coach makes little difference in the total investment. Coaches of all sizes cost the carrier about the same to insure across the board. In addition, the size of your group does not reduce the required investment dramatically. Most coaches that can transport less than 36 passengers will not be allowed to travel more than 150 miles from the carrier’s home base. These coaches will not have restrooms, ample luggage space, or the level of comfort needed.
Craig Speck (The Ultimate Common Sense Group Transportation Guide For Churches and Schools!: How To Learn Not To Crash and Burn)
A week at the Grand Hotel Bear in that first winter season cost £10 5s 0d (about £600 today), including second-class train travel from London, room (with lights, service and heating), full board and 56lb of luggage. Passengers could leave Charing Cross at 2.20pm and arrive in Grindelwald at 3.10pm the next day, having caught a boat, travelled through the night and changed trains four times. The same train journey today takes ten hours with three changes, in Paris, Basel and Interlaken.
Diccon Bewes (Slow Train to Switzerland: One Tour, Two Trips, 150 Years and a World of Change Apart)
I see,” answered Chips, without seeing at all. He could not really understand why a man born in Brooklyn should have a sentimental desire to visit Brookfield: he could not understand why letters should be counted instead of read; he could not understand why a man who wished to avoid publicity should travel around with the kind of luggage that would rivet the attention of every fellow-traveller and railway porter. These things were mysteries.
James Hilton (To You Mr. Chips: More Stories of Mr. Chips and the True Story Behind the World's Most Beloved Schoolmaster)
Don't let your luggage define your travels, each life unravels differently.” ​— ​Shane Koyczan
Penny Reid (Truth or Beard (Winston Brothers, #1))
Conclusions and assumptions...We all travel with them and frequently they are like poorly packaged luggage-falling apart and needing to be redone as we journey through life...We take our conclusions and assumptions and set them aside until we pick up new ones, and then we set them aside until we realize we shouldn't ever carry either.
Patti Callahan (The Art of Keeping Secrets)
Luggage and guests did not travel together ... in fact, luggage went by a different route, so suitcases could be distributed to guest rooms before they arrived
Estella M. Chung (Living Artfully: At Home with Marjorie Merriweather Post)
Whose fault is it if the traveller instead of putting his luggage in the cart which bears the load any way, carries it on his head, to his own inconvenience?’83 There
Arthur Osborne (The Teachings of Ramana Maharshi (The Classic Collection))
It was a glorious experience to travel by rail for the children and the panoramic views of Africa through the big glass window in the back of the last car were beyond description. It was just as you would expect it to be as described in a vintage National Geographic magazine, with springbok and other wild animals abounding. The distance is approximately the same as from New York to Chicago and took an overnight. Adeline and Lucia talked late into the night as the children tried to hear what was being said. There was a lot of catching up to do, but it had been a long and exhausting day and the next thing they all knew, was that it was the following morning and the train was approaching Cape Town, affectionately known as the “Tavern of the Seas.” When the train finally came to a halt, after being switched from one track to another through the extensive rail yards, the realization sank in that this was their new life. Kaapstad, Cape Town in Afrikaans, would be their new home and German, the language they had spoken until now, was history. A new family came to meet them and helped carry their luggage to waiting cars. All of these strange people speaking strange languages were uncles, aunts and nephews. An attractive elderly woman who spoke a language very similar to German, but definitely not the same, was the children’s new Ouma. However, to avoid confusion she was to be addressed as Granny. She lived in a Dutch gabled house called “Kismet” located in a beautiful suburb known as “Rosebank.” This would be their home until Adeline could find a place where they could settle in and start their new life.
Hank Bracker
Around me, in this tin can, my fellow travelers: we, the acquiescent, unaware insurrectionists; we who have left and returned so constantly throughout history our language has given us a name—balikbayan. Sloped-shouldered we are, freighted by absence; our hand-carries bulging with items that wouldn’t fit in overweight luggage, all the countless gifts for countless relatives—proof our time away has not been wasted.
Miguel Syjuco (Ilustrado)
If I could walk one week, why not six? If I could walk to London, why not to Paris, to the Alps, to Jerusalem...I would show with money and a pair of strong boots you can get to Rome. Good-bye, all ye vampires of modern travel. Good-bye, insistent cab-men, and tip-loving porters. Good-bye, mis-directed luggage and dusty railway carriages...Good-bye, trains - punctual and unpunctual, I am your slave no longer. I am free. I am FREE.
A.N. Cooper
I only see people taking their pickup trucks to Cracker Barrel. My brother Mike, like many other pickup owners, never seems to be picking anything up with his pickup. I find this confusing. It's like walking around with a big empty piece of luggage: 'Are you about to travel somewhere?' 'No, but I'm the type of guy who would.
Jim Gaffigan (Food: A Love Story)
When we approach life like wayfarers, we realize that “more” isn’t necessarily better—and in fact, can be downright burdensome. I’ve never known any traveler to envy how much luggage his neighbor has. “Less,” on the other hand, can be absolutely liberating—and make for an easier, more exciting, and infinitely more interesting journey!
Francine Jay (Miss Minimalist: Inspiration to Downsize, Declutter, and Simplify)
Coaches typically have three luggage bays underneath, and the more passengers you have traveling the tighter it will be. You should limit the bags per person to exactly what each person needs and no more. You will have overhead bins in the coach for carry-on bags, but that will also be limited. How many pairs of shoes can ladies bring with them? HA!
Craig Speck (The Ultimate Common Sense Group Transportation Guide For Churches and Schools!: How To Learn Not To Crash and Burn)
How did I find myself here? Me—the man who wanted to walk around the world? On foot, no less. I wanted to be Passepartout, a traveller with little luggage, a Thomas Cook, an Ibn Battuta. Where is Xanadu?
Fadia Faqir (Willow Trees Don't Weep)
Stabbings, shooting, rapes, homicides -- the denizens of places like the Elk brought those crimes along with them the way ordinary travelers carried luggage.
Linda Fairstein (Death Dance (Alexandra Cooper, #8))
It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression “As pretty as an airport.” Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (Murmansk airport is the only exception of this otherwise infallible rule), and architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs.
Greg Ellifritz (Choose Adventure: Safe Travel in Dangerous Places)
Welcome to Dehradun to Mussoorie Taxi services. Here we offer you our best Taxi services from Dehradun to Mussoorie. Dehradun Cab offers Cabs from Dehradun Airport to Mussoorie airport drop at affordable rates and you can avail our services at your doorstep. You can book Taxis online and choose among the variety of our Taxi options. You can book online Taxi/Cab services by filling online as of on our website. We book Taxi without go forward and you can pay the quantity to the driver after your journey click to call now for more in order and Taxi accessibility. The taxi service provides you with various car options such as the Toyota Innova, Maruti Suzuki Swift Dzire, and other SUVs, sedans, hatchbacks and even tempo travellers. Therefore, if you are looking for a reliable trip advisor, with lucrative packages at affordable prices, then Dehradun Cab is your guide. We offer Taxis that suit your pocket. In fact, taxis are also available on rent from Dehradun to Mussoorie for sightseeing, a quick weekend trip or a longer vacation. In addition, we have Taxis depending on the people and luggage on your trip. . #Dehradun_Mussoorie_taxi_service #DehraduntoMussooriecabservice #DehradunMussoorietaxi #taxiservicefromdehraduntoMussoorie #DehraduntoMussooriecabfare #DehraduntoMussoorietaxi #DehraduntoMussooriecab #taxiservicedehraduntoMussoorie Call :- +91–9720678777, 9720563777 Mail :- [email protected]
Dehradun cab
We provide you 24 x 7 services with top fleet of Dehradun to Mussoorie taxi services at very cheap rates. Here we provide you the very best and cheapest taxi services which are always right according to your budget. If you are planning to travel from Dehradun to Mussoorie then give us a call 2 3 days prior to your journey so that we will reserve you a cab and a good driver to make your journey even better. A traveler when away from home he only searches for a reliable and honest travel friend, here we provide you Dehradun to Mussoorie taxi service as well as a very good driver - our drivers are very honest and cooperative. We provide you easy and secure booking. We have cabs like Indica, Indico, Swift DZire, Etios, Innova, XUV, Xylo and different types of tempo passengers. We are here to offer our valued customers our luxurious, comfortable and suitable taxi services that will be worth the price you pay us. We have every vehicle you want available for you. We offer airport and rail transfers = fully car facility in all major cities of Uttarakhand. We offer travelers an affordable one-way option to avail cab capability at or near the cost of a one-way taxi. Any of our managerial vehicles, you take for your journey; You can rest assured their presence to the maximum standards. All the vehicles we use are carefully evaluated, maintained and serviced. Dehradun to Mussoorie taxi service is rated as one of the best cab services by the customers. Our corporation's modern and forward-looking travel system provides unparalleled travel services in a cost-effective manner. We work according to the needs of our clients and plan with good practices so that they can get the most enjoyment at a reasonable price. We provide reliable travel services contributing car, cabs and taxis from Dehradun to Mussoorie. Our prime objective is to provide you the best and reliable taxi service. We provide you the best and excellent services based on your requirement. Our taxis are both AC and non AC and have the freedom to carry luggage. For such service you can contact Dehradun to Mussoorie taxi fare. We sincerely believe that we are a company working for all the people who are related to it so that they too are satisfied with their work to be able to make you happy. Of course, all our drivers are kind, knowledgeable; they know the tourism world perfectly and get all the authority of the job. #DehraduntoMusssorieTaxiservice #DehradunMussoorieTaxiService #DehradunMussoorietaxi #DehraduntoMussoorietaxifare #TaxiservicesfromDehraduntoMussoorie Call :- +91-9720678777, 9720563777 Mail :- [email protected]
Dehradun cab
Dehradun Cab provides you 24 x 7 services with top fleet of cars from Dehradun to Delhi taxi services at very sensible rates. Here we offer you very best and cheapest taxi services. If you plan out Dehradun to Delhi so just 2 3 days before give us a call we reserve you cab and will send your position. The only thing a traveler wants when he is away from home is a dependable and honest Travel friend, here we provide you Dehradun to Delhi cab service – our Drivers are Very Honest and Co Operative. We present high quality services at unbeatable prices and suspiciously administer the carrying needs of our clients. We are here to give our precious clientele with our luxurious, relaxed and suitable taxi services which will worth the price you pay us. We provide you the easy and safe bookings. We have Cabs like indica, indico, swift dzire, etios, Innova, xuv, xylo and various types of tempo travelers. Our taxi rental services are modified to suit your individual requirements. Whether booking a taxi for production or holiday, Dehradun to Delhi taxi has a broad range of luxury, sports, and economy vehicles to convene every car hire require. We also offer car worries wholly for airport and rail transfers in all chief cities across India. Our services comprise self-drive and chauffeur-drive cars. custody passenger reassure as top most precedence Dehradun Delhi taxi is annoying to build technology driven request to help 24x7 client support centers and bringing regularity in operation. Making Best of desecrate i.e making use of those taxi cabs which are organization empty one way among two cities. Providing travelers a cheap one-way option to avail cab capacity at or nearer to one-way taxi price. Dehradun to Delhi Cab service has been rated as one of the best cab services by the clients. Either of our managerial vehicles, you take for your journey; you can rest guaranteed of their appearance to the maximum standards. All of the vehicles that we use are carefully evaluated, maintained and serviced. The modern and go forward travel system of our corporation offer unparallel travel services in cost well-organized way. We offer believable travel services contribution car, cab and taxi from Dehradun to Delhi. Our major motive is as long as you best and dependable service. Depend upon your necessity we offer you best and excellence services. We work in agreement to our customers needs and chalk out the plan in a good behavior consequently as to they get to take pleasure in the most at a reasonably priced. Our taxis are both AC as well as Non AC and have freedom for luggage custody. We also award them with booking with one way fares, come back journey and multi-city booking. You can contact Dehradun to Delhi cab fare for this kind of service. They are in the middle of the most important car service supplier of Dehradun India. We truthfully consider that a company is operational thanks to everyone who is concerned in it so that they should also be content of their work to be able to make happy you. Of course, all of our drivers are kind, well knowledgeable; they totally know the tourism world and get all the authorizations of job. #DehraduntoDelhicabservice #DehradunDelhitaxi #taxiservicefromdehraduntodelhi #DehraduntoDelhicabfare #Dehraduntodelhitaxi #Dehraduntodelhicab #taxiservicedehraduntodelhi Call :- +91-9720678777, 9720563777 Mail :- [email protected]
Dehradun cab
Dehradun is the capital of Uttarakhand. Dehradun to Airport Taxi Service is fast growing tour & travel service agent based at Dehradun (Uttarakhand). It is the best Taxi service provider in Dehradun and Uttarakhand We have the best trained staff, transport vehicles and most importantly. Dehradun Cab offer provides great range of taxi to our elite list of clients. Its offer car rental service in Dehradun in very low cost. Our mission is to offer Quality service and superiority to our clientele promptly. Dehradun to Airport taxi provides to very good service our customers all our drivers are each one of them is licensed and has done a complete formal training program that makes them entitled for driving licensed and specialist in defensive driving and safety methods. In extra services, we perform background checks and random drug testing to ensure security and security of our clients. We are also operational with many well-known travelling agencies as a key service provider. Dehradun Cab offer our taxi rental services in all over India for tours packages Himalayas Tours, Pilgrimage Tours, Chardham , Uttarakhand tours etc. The 24/7 transport services are accessible with branded fleets and supreme contact-network of the company. Travelling with our taxi cab will make sure that you will be under the care of efficiently trained and dedicated driver. Your entire luggage will be carefully tucked in with enough space that does not because fragile items to break. We have more than a few Taxis plying flanked by Dehradun and Airport. Our fleet skin a variety of vehicles ready with the safety skin and options travelers usually prefer- Indigo, Innova, Tempo, etc. All vehicles are skillfully serviced and maintained to meet the uppermost standards. You may opt for spontaneous and drop from your home address, bus stand, office address, railway station, airport or any other favored location. We have all type of taxis in our fleet to make your trip full of comfort and unforgettable. All taxis emotionally involved to are air conditioned. Our mission is to present excellence service and fineness to our customers promptly; exclusively when you are with Dehradun to Airport taxi service you forget about the hazard and enjoy your holidays since we are here to take care and put into practice all the safety gears necessary for you. We are contribution you best quality taxi Service in Dehradun to Airport for your Outstation Trip. We have each range of cars from inexpensive to luxury section. #DehraduntoAirportCab #DehraduntoAirporttaxi #taxifromDehraduntoAirport #CabfromDehraduntoAirport #hiretaxifromDehraduntoAirport
Dehradun cab
Madame Egloff, who stood, hands held out in front of her, expressing her admiration. ‘Please make the alterations, Madame, and have the gowns sent round to Brown’s Hotel by the weekend.’ Half an hour later, when they left Madame Egloff’s salon, Sophie had been dressed and pinned into each of the garments Matty had chosen, and promises had been made to deliver the clothes to the hotel by Saturday morning at the latest. * Monday morning saw them at Paddington Station being conducted to a private compartment on the train. Sophie had never travelled in such style before, being more used to the uncomfortable rowdiness of a third-class carriage, but Matty had insisted. ‘I always travel this way,’ she said. ‘The journey is quite tiring enough without being crammed in next to crying children and shrill women.’ Having directed the porter to place their luggage in the guard’s van, Matty had settled herself into their compartment with a copy of the new Murray’s Magazine, which she had bought from a news-stand at the station. Beside her on the seat was a hamper, provided by Brown’s, with the food and drink they would need for the journey. As the train drew out of the station and started its long journey west, Sophie felt keyed up with anxious anticipation and was grateful for the comforting presence of Hannah, ensconced on the other side of the compartment. Dressed in her new plaid travelling dress, with a matching hat perched on her head, Sophie knew she was a different person from the one who had sat at her dying mother’s bedside, holding her hand. No longer a young girl on the brink of adulthood... but who? There had been too much change in her life in the past weeks that she still had to come to terms with. Who am I? she wondered. I don’t feel like me! She looked across at Hannah, so familiar, so safe, huddled in a corner, her eyes shut as she dozed, and Sophie felt a wave of affection flood through her. Dear Hannah, she thought, I’m so glad you came too. When they had left Madame Egloff, Matty had taken Sophie for afternoon tea at Brown’s. Looking round the famous tea room, with its panelled walls, its alcoved fireplace and its windows giving onto Albemarle Street, Sophie
Diney Costeloe (Miss Mary's Daughter)
Alien was my room, the small trunk that was my luggage, the view from the little window. I feared I could no longer establish a relationship with anyone or anything.
Italo Calvino (If on a Winter's Night a Traveler)