Open road, going somewhere, elsewhere—she loved that feeling. She knew that about herself. She knew she loved leaving more than a drink, more than sex, more than hunger, the books. The road didn’t have a caved-in feeling or a hangover; it could have any wonder in the whole world.
— Tara June Winch, The Yield: A Novel (Harper, June 2, 2020)
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I waste away with broken dreams
fragmented thoughts of a scattered being
so wistful in its nature, almost by design
I am a breaking person with a melancholic mind
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The great home of the soul is the open road.
D.H. Lawrence
Françoise Hardy with Georges Moustaki, 1970.
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Sometimes I long so much for the open road. When I cannot calm myself, only the street can calm me down. The endless night, with its roof above me, made of stars. The rain is my shower and the cold is my rest
Venus in furs, they say? Who will be my bear then to stir my brick blood hard? Because Venus is nude at night
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