A Quote by Laozi

A good wanderer leaves no trace. — © Laozi
A good wanderer leaves no trace.

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On a soft snow, even a sparrow leaves a trace; the important thing is to leave a trace on a steel plate!
The world is like a sheet of paper on which something is typed. The reading and the meaning will vary with the reader, but the paper is the common factor, always present, rarely perceived. When the ribbon is removed, typing leaves no trace on the paper. So is my mind - the impressions keep on coming, but no trace is left.
If you leave a good trace behind you, that trace will continue its walk even if you stop!
The hardest grief is often that which leaves no trace.
Labor is work that leaves no trace behind it when it is finished.
Time's flying wheel leaves little trace behind.
Happiness, whether in business or private life, leaves little trace in history.
Naked a man comes into the world and naked he leaves it, after all is said and done he leaves nothing except the good deeds he leaves behind.
Subtle and insubstantial, the expert leaves no trace; divinely mysterious, he is inaudible. Thus he is master of his enemy's fate.
An arrow may fly through the air and leave no trace; but an ill thought leaves a trail like a serpent.
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. . .
I want viewers want to talk about The Conquest. I want the dialogue to start after the movie. The cinema is there to leave a trace. I hope my film leaves a trace and that it will open a door for French cinema and that tomorrow other directors will make political movies. The job of a filmmaker today is to talk about the world surrounding him and, through his movies, to both entertain and raise questions about modern society.
Good luck, little Wanderer, good luck. How I wish you didn't need it.
You trust him, Trace, and you know it." "With my back," Trace snapped. "Not with my sister.
Oh! welcome to the wearied Earth The Sabbath resting comes, Gathering the sons of toil and care Back to their peaceful homes; And, like a portal to the skies, Opens the House of God, Where all who seek may come and learn The way the Saviour trod. But holier to the wanderer seems The Sabbath on the deep, When on, and on, in ceaseless course, The toiling bark must keep, And not a trace of man appears Amid the wilderness Of waters--then it comes like dove Direct from heaven to bless.
And, just for good measure, here are a handful of runners up: For now the seventh summer carries you, A wanderer, across the lands and waters.
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