There Are A Lot Of

Wanderer, Your Footsteps Are The Road, And Nothing More; Wanderer, There Is No Road, The Road Is Made By Walking. By Walking One Makes The Road, And Upon Glancing Behind One Sees The Path. . .

My Soul Is Not Asleep. It Is Awake, Wide Awake. It Neither Sleeps Nor Dreams, But Watches, Its Eyes Wide Open Far-off Things, And Listens At The Shores Of The Great Silence.

Travelers, There Is No Path, Paths Are Made By Walking.

The Unpublished Manuscript Is Like An Uncon-fessed Sin That Festers In The Soul, Corrupting And Contaminating It.

Pathmaker, There Is No Path; You Make The Path By Walking, By Walking You Make The Path