A Quote by Carl Sagan

We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. — © Carl Sagan
We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still.
Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean. We are ready at last to set sail for the stars.
Wanderers eastward, wanderers west, Know you why you cannot rest? 'Tis that every mother's son Travails with a skeleton. Lie down in the bed of dust; Bear the fruit that bear you must; Bring the eternal seed to light, And morn is all the same as night.
For Wayfarers still journeying, for Wanderers at rest.
Nor for my peace will I go far, As wanderers do, that still do roam, But make my strengths, such as they are, Here in my bosom, and at home.
The sea-road is good for wanderers and landless men. There is quenching of thirst on the grey paths of the winds, and the flying clouds to still the sting of lost dreams.
We were wanderers from the beginning.
Show us your Christ, Lady, after this our exile, yes: but show Him to us also now, show Him to us here, while we are still wanderers.
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
America is a nation created by all the hopeful wanderers of Europe, not out of geography and genetics, but out of purpose.
May my life be like a great hospitable tree, and may weary wanderers find in me a rest.
I'm not really a fighter, but I've never backed down from anyone in Paris. I feel I can't. In London, I'll just run because I'm not going to fight 50 Wolverhampton Wanderers fans.
Women's eyes are wanderers, and too often bring home guests that are very troublesome to them, and whom, once introduced, they cannot get out of the house.
For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.
The actor's life, but also the Australian's life. We're wanderers. We like to walk about - we're curious people. I have felt that since I was a teenager.
Many writers today are wanderers. There is not only an unhousedness in language - how to convey, to say nothing of converge - but an unhousedness of place.
...many foolish persons, wanderers from other parts, have the vain fashion of graving their names and the obscure places whence they come, upon its stones, which is silly and marketh the doer for a fool.
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