A Quote by John Dryden

Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend;
The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end. — © John Dryden
Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend; The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.
Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
I have had the accomplishment of something like this at heart ever since I was a boy.... So I feel tonight like the man who is lodging happily in the inn which lies half way along the journey and that in time, with a fresh impulse, we shall go the rest of the journey and sleep at the journey's end like men with a quiet conscience.
The Christian is the most contented man in the world, but he is the least contented with the world. He is like a traveler in an inn, perfectly satisfied with the inn and its accommodation, considering it as an inn, but putting quite out of all consideration the idea of making it his home.
We're all pilgrims on the same journey - but some pilgrims have better road maps.
We're all pilgrims on the same journey but some pilgrims have better road maps.
May we live here like strangers and make the world not a house, but an inn, in which we sup and lodge, expecting to be on our journey tomorrow.
We are only here below as in an inn on a journey. Let us, then have the feelings of travelers. We should think a man very strange who attached himself much to his inn. The wise Christian will not do this.
End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.
You have to decide where the line is in such a complicated place like Saudi Arabia. I was so confused by the place - there's no simple story. It's a place that is really sensitive to how it is judged, particularly by people from the West. So in the end I thought: I'm just going to take the reader on my journey to try and understand this odd place.
As a Buddhist, I view death as a normal process, a reality that I accept will occur as long as I remain in this earthly existence. Knowing that I cannot escape it, I see no point in worrying about it. I tend to think of death as being like changing your clothes when they are old and worn out, rather than as some final end. Yet death is unpredictable: We do not know when or how it will take place. So it is only sensible to take certain precautions before it actually happens.
We are pilgrims, not settlers; this earth is our inn, not our home.
Every soul... comes into the world strengthened by the victories or weakened by the defeats of its' previous life. Its' place in this world as a vessel appointed to honor or dishonor, is determined by its' previous merits or demerits. Its' work in this world determines its' place in the world which is to follow this.
These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.
My father was my mother's home, the one place that she knew she could be safe. It was all a journey of faith for him, and I think he felt like if you don't find more love and understanding at the end of a journey like that, then you are lost - and if you only find hate and resentment, it will destroy you. I believe that.
For the world, I count it not an inn, but a hospital; and a place not to live, but to die in.
The world rings changes, it is never constant but in its disappointments. The world is but a great inn, where we are to stay a night or two, and be gone; what madness is it so to set our heart upon our inn, as to forget our home?
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!