A Quote by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
I wandered off, walking through streets that seemed emptier than ever, thinking that if I didn't stop, if I kept on walking, I wouldn't notice that the world I thought I knew was no longer there.
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The rhythm of walking generates a kind of rhythm of thinking, and the passage through a landscape echoes or stimulates the passage through a series of thoughts. The creates an odd consonance between
internal and external passage, one that suggests that the mind is also a landscape of sorts and that walking is one way to traverse it. A new thought often seems like a feature of the landscape that was
there all along, as though thinking were traveling rather than making.
Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.
i am like a survivor of the flood walking through the streets drenched with God surprised that all of the drowned victims are still walking and talking
My brother Steve, who was a few years older than me, had 'Bad' on tape, and I remember listening to 'Smooth Criminal' and just thinking it was the coolest thing ever. I must have been five or six at the time, and I remember walking around school by myself thinking I was Michael Jackson. I wasn't dancing, exactly - more like walking musically.
As I was walking down the stairs, I kept thinking that the room felt like a movie theater with all your attention on this wall, so it seemed like a big challenge.
By walking naked you gain far more than coolness. You feel an unexpected sense of freedom from restraint. An uplifting and almost delirious sense of simplicity. In this new simplicity you soon find that you have become, in a new and surer sense, and integral part of the simple, complex world you are walking through. And then you are really walking.
Walking on rocks, hurts. Walking on glass, cuts. Walking on hot coals, burns. Walking on someones heart, kills.
Looking, Walking, Being, I look and look. Looking's a way of being: one becomes, sometimes, a pair of eyes walking. Walking wherever looking takes one. The eyes dig and burrow into the world. They touch, fanfare, howl, madrigal, clamor. World and the past of it, not only visible present, solid and shadow that looks at one looking. And language? Rhythms of echo and interruption? That's a way of breathing. breathing to sustain looking, walking and looking, through the world, in it.
Anyone who's ever been around an emergency in Manhattan realizes that there are plainclothes officers on these streets walking past us more than we ever realize.
I wandered through the streets thinking of all the things I might have said and might have done had I been other than I was.
Photography is like life What does it all mean? I don't know - but you get an impression, a feeling. An impression of walking through the street, walking through the park, walking through life. I'm very suspicious of people who say they know what it means.
If I dreamt this, while walking, walking in the London streets, the subconscious of each and every other life, past and present, brushing me in passing, what makes it real? Writing it down.
When I thought I'd killed him, I felt more alone than I've felt in a long time. Like I couldn't stand walking through this city knowing he wasn't in it. Like somehow, as long as he was out there somewhere, if I was ever really in trouble, I knew where I could go and while maybe he wouldn't do exactly what I wanted him to do, he'd keep me alive. He'd get me through whatever it was to live another day.
Yeah, I'm walking through the airport, I'm walking through the street, I'm driving in my car, people just start screaming at me - 'YEEEAAAHHH!'
Not only do people stop me on the street to say, 'We're walking, we're walking', but I have actually been in restaurants where the hostess was saying it to customers.
Walking through the city streets... Is it by mistake or design?
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