Trails are like that: you're floating along in a Shakespearean Arden paradise and expect to see nymphs and flute boys, then suddenly you're struggling in a hot broiling sun of hell in dust and nettles and poison oak... just like life. The Dharma Bums
And all the insects ceased in honor of the moon. Lonesome Traveler
I'm a Catholic and I can't commit suicide, but I plan to drink myself to death.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.