Wander Often Wonder Always Quotes

So now it’s this thing I do. I go away, ever so often, by myself, for myself, to new places with foreign streets I haven’t walked yet, and there I wander, up and down, watching people going places I don’t know and it always hits me that they’re never alone, always with someone, and I wonder how they would spend a day all on their own in a foreign city with nothing to do and no one to see, and I wonder if they’d be happy. Just simply being free, like I am trying to be. Happy. Just simply being me.

Joy is not the satisfied contemplation of an accomplished result, the emotion of victory, the satisfaction of having succeeded. It is the sign of an energy that is deftly deployed, it is a free affirmation: everything comes easy. Joy is an activity: executing with ease something difficult that has taken time to master, asserting the faculties of the mind and the body. Joys of thought when it finds and discovers, joys of the body when it achieves without effort. That is why joy, unlike pleasure, increases with repetition, and is enriched. When you are walking, joy is a basso continuo. Locally, of course, you may run into effort and difficulty. You will also find immediate moments of contentment: a proud gaze backwards to contemplate the long steep plunge of the slope behind you. Those satisfactions, though, too often present an opportunity to reintroduce quantities, scores, figures (which track? how long? what altitude?). And walking becomes a competition. That is why expeditions in high mountain country (conquering peaks, each one a challenge) are always slightly impure: because they give rise to narcissistic gratification. What dominates in walking, away from ostentation and showing off, is the simple joy of feeling your body in the most primitively natural activity.

Shevek wandered across acres of polished marble under that immense ethereal vault, and came at last to the long array of doors through which crowds of people came and went constantly, all purposeful, all separate. They all looked, to him, anxious. He had often seen that anxiety before in the faces of Urrasti, and wondered about it. Was it because, no matter how much money they had, they always had to worry about making more, lest they die poor? Was it guilt, because no matter how little money they had, there was always somebody who had less? Whatever the cause, it gave all the faces a certain sameness, and he felt very much alone among them. In escaping his guides and guards he had not considered what it might be like to be on one’s own in a society where men did not trust one another, where the basic moral assumption was not mutual aid, but mutual aggression. He was a little frightened.

Outside of dreams his skin is cold, lifeless, lie the clay he favors for his bodyguards. When he comes to her in her sleep, though, he's always warm. She'd like to keep him for her mind completely, but the vulnerability of sleep is as an open door to him; then he can wander through the hallways of her dreams at will. And though in her waking hours he can write a command and force her body to obey it, in dreams he cannot.....She often wonders whether he prefers the challenge of the dreams. Whether it's more fun for him to have to work to get her to do what he wants.

You should be more careful, you know.” Cass opened her mouth but no words came out. Again, she felt her stays crushing down on her chest. “Careful?” she managed to croak. “You’re the one who knocked me over.” “I couldn’t resist,” he said, and he actually had the nerve to wink at her. “It’s not often I get the chance to put my hands on such a beautiful woman.” Cass stared at him, speechless. Without another word, he turned away and followed the group of laughing artists into a crowded campo, his muscular form disappearing among merchants’ sacks of cabbages and potatoes. The scene blurred a little, like a painting, and for a second Cass wondered if maybe she had hit her head and had imagined the whole exchange. Liviana’s uncle Pietro materialized suddenly by her side, followed by Madalena. “What were you thinking, running off by yourself?” Pietro frowned severely. “And that common street thug put his hands on you! Do you want me to go after him?” “No, no,” Cass said quickly. “It was just an accident.” Still, the nerve of the boy to tell her to be careful. He, clearly, was the one who needed to watch where he was going. “Your dress!” Madalena reached toward Cass, but stopped short of touching the soiled fabric. “You must be furious.” Cass looked down at her soggy gown. Even the rosary hanging from her belt had gotten dirty. Cass wiped the coral and rosewood crucifix clean in the folds of her skirt. The dress was obviously ruined, but she had always found it a bit uncomfortable, and she had plenty of others. “You’re lucky you weren’t hurt,” Liviana’s uncle said sternly. “I hope that teaches you not to wander the streets unaccompanied again.” “Who was he?” Madalena asked in a whisper as Cass allowed her to take her arm and lead her back to the church. “No idea.” Cass realized she was trembling. Her heart thudded against the walls of her rib cage. The sting in her palm was already fading to a dull throb, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the boy’s devilish smile, or the feeling of his hands on her. Mostly, she couldn’t shake the image of those bright blue eyes that just for a second had gazed at her so intensely, in a way no one had ever looked at her before.

The priest and his desires Not alone, but a lonely monastery priest, Resisting hard not to venture out and pursue the need for love and passion driven heist, Bound by his sanctum and religion, He tries not to give in to any seduction, Adam and Eve blamed the devil, The priest is baffled to decide who shall he blame for this evil, He rolls and turns restlessly in the bed of his desires, And every night after the Church service he deals with these raging fires, He is dressed in his black robe on the much anticipated Sunday mass, But he is distracted and sees passions and desires cast on peoples faces and even on mosaic glass, At the end of the service he serves all some fine and red wine, And when he stands face to face with a beautiful woman his inner self says “I wish you were mine!’” His Sunday night is spent in her curled hair locks, He is shackled to her beautiful face and desires that fasten around him like unbreakable locks, He often touches his cross that he wears always, Still his nights are restless and now it is so even during the sunny Spring days, He bows before the Altar and makes a solemn confession, “My Lord! her face and her overpowering beauty have become my obsession, Am I still worthy of worshipping you my God? For I have silently started worshiping this feeling of loving her and I do not feel odd, It is her thoughts that possess me even during my sermons, In her absence, not yours My Lord, everything presents itself like bad omens, To tame my wandering thoughts I refer to the Holy Book, But through it too peeps her face and her mesmerising look, I wonder if I shall quit clergy, And adopt this new synergy, I am drowning farther and farther in this mental eclipse, And I only want to think of her beautiful face, her warm skin and her red lips, Shall I forsake my black robe, My Lord, and not Thee? Or Forsake her and thereby my black robe and Thee? Because without her I do not feel anything that is a part of me, And without being me, how can I anything else be, Perhaps I am supposed to be a man of God but not a man, Never to fulfillmy own desires for I am busy fulfilling Your plan, So let me live with my state and the social taboo, While every night I place my desires in the coffin along with the happy morning cuckoo.” The Lord smiles at him, “It is your personal battle and it is grim, You desire her, her face, her charming ways, You think of her during nights and during the bountiful days, But you think of me too and that is enough for me to know, So seek her and kiss her grace, for then you shall better baptise in my glow, And before you fall too low, Rise to your calling and you shall reap as you shall sow, Whether you wear a black robe or her kisses, I shall judge you on how you made others feel with or without your kisses.” Said the Lord in His emphatic voice, And the priest stood up and made the right choice! To love the woman he loved and missed, And he felt something divine within him, whenever her deep beauty he kissed! Source of inspiration : The Thorn Birds 1983 Drama

The priest and his desires Not alone, but a lonely monastery priest, Resisting hard not to venture out and pursue the need for love and passion driven heist, Bound by his sanctum and religion, He tries hard not to give in to any form of seduction, Adam and Eve blamed the devil, The priest is baffled to decide who shall he blame for this evil? He rolls and turns restlessly in the bed of his desires, And every night after the Church service he deals with these raging fires, He is dressed in his black robe on the much anticipated Sunday mass, But he is distracted when he sees passions and desires cast on peoples faces and even on mosaic glass, At the end of the service he serves all some fine and red wine, And when he comes face to face with a beautiful woman, his inner self says “I wish you were mine!’” His Sunday night is spent in her curled hair locks, He is shackled to her beautiful face and desires that fasten around him like unbreakable locks, He often touches his cross that he wears always, Still his nights are restless and now it is so even during the sunny Spring days, He bows before the Altar and makes a solemn confession, “My Lord! her face and her overpowering beauty have become my obsession, Am I still worthy of worshipping you my God? For I have silently started worshiping this feeling of loving her and I do not feel odd, It is her thoughts that possess me even during my sermons, In her absence, not yours My Lord, everything presents itself like bad omens, To tame my wandering thoughts I refer to the Holy Book, But through it too peeps her face and her mesmerising look, I wonder if I shall quit clergy, And adopt this new synergy? I am drowning farther and farther in this mental eclipse, And I only want to think of her beautiful face, her warm skin and her red lips, Shall I forsake my black robe, My Lord, and not Thee? Or Forsake her and thereby my black robe and as well Thee? Because without her I do not feel anything that is a part of me, And without being me, how can I anything else be, Perhaps I am supposed to be a man of God but not a man, Never to fulfil my own desires for I am busy fulfilling Your plan, So let me live with my state and the social taboo, While every night I place my desires in the coffin along with the happy morning cuckoo.” The Lord smiles at him, “It is your personal battle and it is grim, You desire her, her face, her charming ways, You think of her during nights and during the bountiful days, But you think of me too and that is enough for me to know, So seek her and kiss her grace, for then you shall better baptise in my glow, And before you fall too low, Rise to your calling and you shall reap as you shall sow, Whether you wear a black robe or her kisses, I shall judge you on how you made others feel with or without your kisses.” Said the Lord in His emphatic voice, And the priest stood up and made the right choice! To love the woman he loved and missed, And he felt something divine within him, whenever her deep beauty he kissed! Source of inspiration : The Thorn Birds . 1983 Drama

Your and our sea of love! The night sea, calm and silent, With the lapping sound of waves, There my heart wanders, my heart indulgent, And floats with these waves, Into the ocean of feelings, Into the depths of emotions, And I doubt my heart’s dealings, As it creates new waves of emotions, Where I feel wet with your embrace, And the waves of life surround me from every side, And I seek you riding these waves and merge with your grace, Feeling the beauty of your beautiful face that now stares at me from every side, And then my love Irma, I let myself sink to the bottom, As your feelings, your memories, your touch pile over me, And now I can even feel your every atom, As your conscience of love sinks into me, At the bottom of the life’s sea, Where ripples and waves distract the casual seeker of love, Because the pearls lie at the bottom of the sea, Just like you, every moment sinking into me silently, in this sea of love, Where I am the waves, I am the ripples, I am the sea, And you are the motion that keeps me alive, And in this state I shall now forever be, With you and the sea of life forever in me alive, Then at the bottom as you secretly kiss me, Some mariner shall feel the joy in his heart, And so shall begin the cycle of new waves, new tides in the sea, Where now the sea, the waves, the pearl, everything is part of our heart, That beats endlessly over the surface of the sea, To inspire the true mariner of the sea seeking life and love, To him we shall bear the visions of what he can be, A lover, just like you and me, who always finds his true love, So Irma, let the sea of feelings and your memories grow over me, And let me at the bottom lie submerged, in this vivid presence of thee, Where you are the water, the sea, and everything for me, For my true world is created only when I love thee! And this is what my wish for the true mariner of life shall always be, Seeking love, seeking a wave of passion to ride, And dearing to dive into this sea, At the bottom to discover you and me, Lying in the wet embrace that spreads in all directions, Wherever a true mariner turns to see, Our reflections to discover love’s true sensations, And imagines about the wonder if he too with his lover could dwell in this sea, our sea! And see, The wonder of love and the wonder of the sea, Where life grows on the surface and at the bottom too, For I love you Irma on the surface of the sea, And at its bottom too, So let this mariner come and brave the sea of life, As we cast our spell of love in the form of waves and infinite ripples, Let him discover his own meaningful strife, And flow endlessly with these ripples, To finally tarry at the bottom of this sea, Where now his lover shall tame his weary mind, Just like you do it for me, And make me believe even your heart has a mind, a beautiful mind! That often thinks of me, And dares to plunge into the darkness of the sea, Only to seek me, And realise that at the bottom you and I are the life of the sea! Where many mariners and lovers lie in their state humbled, To flow with these waves endlessly, As we at the bottom of this sea lie passionately cuddled, Like the pearl in an oyster, forever and endlessly!