The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
Nor for my peace will I go far, As wanderers do, that still do roam, But make my strengths, such as they are, Here in my bosom, and at home.
Beware, O wanderer, the road is walking too.
Vast is the power of cities to reclaim the wanderer.
For Wayfarers still journeying, for Wanderers at rest.
Trust your luck, Taran Wanderer. But don't forget to put out your nets!
Many writers today are wanderers. There is not only an unhousedness in language - how to convey, to say nothing of converge - but an unhousedness of place.
I held you in my hands, Wanderer, and you were beautiful.
We were wanderers from the beginning.
We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still.
Once more I am a wanderer, a pilgrim, through the world. But what else are you?