Quotessence
Home / Topics / Journal Quotes

Journal Quotes

Browse 592 quotes about Journal.

Related topics

WritingIfsThinkingDiariesWantStreetsWallWall Street JournalYearsBookPeopleKeeping A JournalKnowsPagesWayReadingPaperRecordsShouldStoriesWrittenIdeasNeedsNotesTryingWorldArticlesHas BeensImportantLettersLongLooksMayFeelsMedicalMenLittlesMindSaidFirstsMeanNightPersonsRememberStillsFilledKindMomentsPapersPracticeResearchSongTwoChildrenFeelingsFoundJournal WritingMotherMy OwnPressesUseWellsWholeDifferentEndsEntryFactsFormGivingHappensI CanLastsMemoriesMightNotebookRealSeemsStudyStuffThreeTodayUsedWantedGratitudeHumansKidsMadeNew YorkNewspapersOnlinePeersReasonSchoolSelfSometimesWinterWishBigsCoursesDreammore

Journal Quotes

“For all the time I’d spent reviewing Holmes’s log on my phone in recent days, it held significantly more meaning now, here in my hands. When I’d first held this journal, I’d chalked Holmes up to little more than another unfortunate drowned sailor. And perhaps even a criminal. But now, I knew he was a man who’d fallen in love with a witch of the sea. A man who’d been determined to return to her.”

RomanticYoung ManJournalSea Witch
Book:The Amalfi Curse
Create image

“I asked Kara to record one good thing she did every day in her workout. Her journal reminded her that she had done the work, and deserved to toe-the-line with everyone else. Recorded consistently over time, a confidence journal can lead to a champion’s mindset.”

WorkConfidenceDeserveGoodChampionJournalWorkout
Book:Strong: A Runner's Guide to Boosting Confidence and Becoming the Best Version of You
Create image

“Still, I can't help but wonder why our love isn't enough to keep him in the village? Why am I not enough? Why doesn't my opinion or my feelings matter to the one person I want to give the rest of my life to? Deep down inside, I know that Chance hasn't found his definition of love, but I've found mine, and that's why I am with him. Am I broken?" - The Legacy of a Fool”

LoveBookBrokenTragedyConfusionHeartacheJournalDiaryFemale Thoughts
Author:Justin Henderson
Create image

“And in this moment of pale dawn in the hours before we leave California, I finally realize what has been the hardest thing for me about Matt’s death. It isn’t that I lost a brother, like Frankie, or a son, like Aunt Jayne and Uncle Red. The hardest thing is that I’ll never know exactly what I lost, how much it should hurt, how long I should keep thinking about him. He took that mystery with him when he died, and a hundred thousand one-sided letters in my journal wouldn’t have brought me any closer to the truth than I was the night I pressed my fingers to the sea glass he wore around his neck and kissed him back. For over a year, the letters were my only connection to him; the only evidence that I didn’t imagine our brief time as other. When I first saw my journal helplessly floating on the waves, I felt a loss so immediate and overwhelming it was like being back in the hospital lobby when the doctor told us they couldn’t fix him. One minute, the journal was in my hands, soft and familiar and real; the next minute, it was gone. Just like Matt. And just like Matt, I need to let it go.”

RealDeathLostGoneLettersDiedConnectionJournalLet GoAnna ReileyMatt Perino
Book:Twenty Boy Summer
Create image

“It is here where education is championed and gratefully pursued as the human right which many in our world classify it to be. For although regarded as a human right, many entitled to education often dismiss its equal standing to other rights of a similar plane: water, food, shelter. Without water, many perish; with education, many complain.”

LifePoetryLearningValueJournalTeachingsTruthsPersonal IdentityPolitical HistoryIndian Education
Book:The Local School
Create image

“We ask ourselves: have we made progress? We are almost never aware of it. Only with effort and discipline do we become fully conscious. If we keep a journal, now and then we are startled when we peruse past entries. Worries, fears, preoccupations of the previous year seem to have evanesced. The greatest terrors and strongest urgencies of five years ago now surprise, embarrass, or encourage us. Was this me? Why was it that I could not gauge it as it was lived?”

FaithWorryJournal
Author:John F. Kavanaugh
Create image

“It's the smell of him in the bathroom, all I need to get ready for the day. Watching him get dressed, and the sound in the kitchen; a slow hum of a song and his movements, picking things to eat. The way I could observe him, for hours, just go on with his day – or as he sleeps – simply breathing in and out, in and out, and it's like the hymn that sings me to peace. I know the world is still out there and I know I'm not yet friendly to its pace, but as long as I know him with me, here, there, somewhere – us – I know I have a chance.”

WorldLoveBeautifulRomanceYoungPoetrySongGirlHopePeaceSleepMorningMovementYouthQuoteGratefulBreathingKitchenProseFriendJournalDayBathroomLitIn LoveSleepingUsHimObserveSongwriterGetting DressedThe Glass Child
Author:Charlotte Eriksson
Create image

“Because zombies can’t go out into the sun, most of them tend to be afraid of anything that can go into the sun and live to tell the tale.”

BookStoriesKidsFunnyQuotesGamesFictionBooksSeriesGiftStorySecretsJournalDiariesGameComicsShortChildren QuotesDiaryChildren BooksFanfictionModeSteveChildren Books QuoteMinecraftWimpyFunny BooksHandbookKid BooksDiary Of ADiary Of A Wimpy KidFunny Zombie QuotesHerobrineMc SteveMcsteveMinecraft BooksMinecraftdiariesMinecraftdiaryVillagerZombie Quotes
Author:MC Steve
Create image

“After Bajju delivered a few beaming salutations, we walked northward up the makeshift, winding path through protruding brush, not much but a few stones placed here and there for balance and leverage upon ascending or descending. Having advanced about hundred steps from the street below, a sharp left leads to Bajju’s property, which begins with his family’s miniature garden – at the time any signs of fertility were mangled by dried roots which flailed like wheat straw, but within the day Bajju’s children vehemently delivered blows with miniature hoes in preparation for transforming such a plot into a no-longer-neglected vegetable garden. A few steps through the produce, or preferably circumventing all of it by taking a few extra steps around the perimeter, leads to the sky-blue painted home. Twisting left, hundreds of miles of rolling hills and the occasional home peeps out, bound below by demarcated farming steppes. If you’re lucky on a clear day and twist to the right, the monstrous, perpetually snow-capped Chaukhamba mountain monopolizes the distance just fifteen miles toward the direction of Tibet in the north.”

Life LessonsPoetryValueJournalTeachingsPersonal IdentityPolitical HistoryFind OneselfIndian EducationPhilosoph
Book:The Local School
Create image

“We were always eating expired things. Milk, bread, biscuits, cake. We forgot about them as they sat around the house and just as they had gone bad, we put them in our mouths. Chocolates I brought back with me from Australia, cheeses in last year's Christmas hamper, juice from the last time someone decided to go grocery shopping. We didn't always realize they tasted funny – not everything curdles and a two-month-old orange can be just as sweet. When we did, it was usually too late. Sometimes it wasn't. We finished what we had started anyway.”

LoveLifeLife LessonsPoetryFoodPoemsJournalChocolatesExpiredSingapore LiteratureDatedExpired Things
Book:We Were Always Eating Expired Things
Create image

“Sanjit says his apartment, the same one in which he grew up, has been flooded many times by the midsummer torrents. For what has been for millennia a primarily agricultural society, rains simultaneously destroy, create, and preserve life in India, similar to the functions of the three premier Hindu gods, Shiva, Brahma, and Vishnu. Every time Kolkata gets pounded by a cyclone, or when the monsoon first erupts in June (although the recent warming of the Indian Ocean increasingly disturbs a once-consistent timeline), Sanjit never fails to send along a video, his house flooded – seemingly destroyed – but the smiles on his, Bajju’s, or other house-guest’s faces signify just the opposite, having been cooled and relieved of perpetual heat. Flooded, they remain preserved.”

PoetryValueJournalTeachingsTruthsPersonal IdentityPolitical HistoryFind OneselfIndian Education
Book:The Local School
Create image

“At least one of the bills, the one for Mom’s credit card, kind of solved a mystery. Guess what? All those big presents Dad got us—even that dinner at Shoney’s—he put on Mom’s credit card. I bet he’s the one who took Mom’s “missing” Christmas money, too. What a nice guy, huh? There were lots of other things on the bill, too—lots of bar tabs at the Alibi Inn that I know were Dad’s, not Mom’s, because Mom can’t drink more than one beer without falling asleep. And it looks like the card was maxxed out the day after Christmas. So Dad just left when he couldn’t use Mom’s card anymore. It wasn’t my fault at all.”

Life LessonsMoneyParentsJournalCredit CardMargaret Peterson HaddixTish Bonner
Book:Don't You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey
Create image

“All night, after the exhausting games of canasta, we would look over the immense sea, full of white-flecked and green reflections, the two of us leaning side by side on the railing, each of us far away, flying in his own aircraft to the stratospheric regions of his own dreams. There we understood that our vocation, our true vocation, was to move for eternity along the roads and seas of the world. Always curious, looking into everything that came before our eyes, sniffing out each corner but only ever faintly--not setting down roots in any land or staying long enough to see the substratum of things the outer limits would suffice.”

TravelSelf DiscoveryExplorationJournalDiariesTravel WritingWanderlustTravellingBohemianDiaryJournalingJournalsVagabondingChe GuevaraTravel Notes
Book:The Motorcycle Diaries: Notes on a Latin American Journey
Create image

“The smell of cigarette smoke in the air in a tavern that changes names often, a bar cursed because of a girl who died of a drug overdose in the basement, we put a few coins in the jukebox; chose “Angel Band” by Johnny Cash and sat down at the bar, ordered a soda, you wanted a whiskey on the rocks. We saw the coal miner who moved here from West Virginia knocking back liquor like I drink sweet tea. No one asked why he was so solemn today. It was warm. It was relatively quiet. To anyone else, this place could feel sinister. But to us, it was freedom. It was a hiding place. No one was ever here long enough to know us. And we liked it that way.”

LoveFreedomYoung AdultLustSelf DiscoveryMemoirRunning AwayNonfictionJournalDiarySelf ExplorationSixteenth NotesTaylor RhodesAdult NonfictionYouth Nonfiction
Book:Sixteenth Notes: the breaking of the rose-colored glasses
Create image

“Daring soul has five diaries; gratitude, work, inspirational, prayer and language diaries.”

InspirationalDesirePurposeMotivationWorkInspiringDestinyAchieveSelf EsteemPositive ThinkingAdventurePrayingGratitudeSeekingPraySelf DeterminationDaringUniquenessJournalWishesWriting LifeWriteDiariesPositive OutlookJoyful LivingDetermined SpiritJoy Of LifeLanguage LearningThankful HeartSeeking FateSelf SeekingSelf StudyShine Your LifeNotekeepingUnstoppable ForceStrong SoulUnstoppable BlessingsKeep A Notebook
Book:Pearls of Wisdom: Great mind
Create image

“A writer is someone who feels the feelings and journals through words from despair into dreams to create a world where every loss turns to a stepping stone every betrayal to a lesson learned and the darkness turns to the gold of morn, a writer is someone, who feels passion and trembles with words, to create the wine of soul, a writer is someone who lowers her eyelashes, yet, says her story to this world......... .........Jayita Bhattacharjee”

DreamLossMorningGoldWriterJournalEyelashesDeapir
Author:Jayita Bhattacharjee
Create image

“Huy smiled every time he remembered to smile, to send a message that he wasn't unhappy. He had learned how to stop people from asking him what was wrong. He wasn't unhappy, he was happy to come and he was happy to watch and he was happy to listen and laugh. He figured his friends must have thought he did not have any opinions on the things they were discussing, but he did, and he wrote them down when he got home. Just because you're not good at speaking, doesn't mean you're not good at listening and thinking, he wrote on the inside front cover of his black and white speckled composition notebook.”

ThinkingListeningThoughtsJournalOpinionsSpeakingIntroversionSocialising
Book:Handsome Vanilla
Create image

“Also, someone stating that an experience being experienced a certain way, takes away from the experience, is absurd to me. "If you've never been in the lake with no clothes on before, then you've never been in the lake" is an outrageous statement, and a false one. I would venture to guess that the experience would be the same, with or without clothes, due to the relatively unrestrictive nature of swimwear. To be fair though, because I do value fairness and demand it from others, I could be wrong about my assessment of this. I, myself, have never been in the lake.”

ThoughtsLakesJournalExperiencesOpinions
Book:Handsome Vanilla
Create image

“We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.”

ThinkingWritingArtBookStoriesLiteratureSpeakLanguageVoiceBornConsciousnessFictionCreativityFantasyCreativeAwarenessBooksPoetReaderPoemThoughtsConsciousConscienceQuoteWordsNarrativeAuthorWriterPlotStoryCreative ProcessThinkEpicJournalStorytellerReadWritePublishNon FictionKamandKojouriKamand KojouriInner VoiceNovelsTalkLiteraryHearArtsDiaryNarrationQuotes About WritingNarratorCreative ArtsSentient
Author:Kamand Kojouri
Create image

“I am running and singing and when it’s raining I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I’m the one waking up at 4am to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I’ve made of myself.”

SoulRunningPoetryPartySeaSkyOceanSingingLaughterCleanProseEyesFreeSunriseTravelerJournalGypsyWanderlustWanderingTravellingNomadWandererMyselfStreetSingerProse PoetryThe Glass ChildVagabondExpatFree MindSmall PressChapbook4am
Book:Another Vagabond Lost To Love: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving
Create image

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer. We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?” He, of course, replied, “No.” “Well, we’re going to a better place.” When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds. Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.” “Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked. “My father’s a ghost,” he whispered. I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path. “Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”

SpiritualMagicHumourAdventureFascinatingJournalLiterary FictionSorceryMagic Cultures
Book:Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
Create image

“Journaling, a tool to help us express, rather than suppress, our thoughts, feelings, and insights. Journaling has been shown to lower distress and depression, enhance psychological well-being, and improve physical health. This is especially true when we try to make sense of a situation and deal with it constructively as we write about it.”

DepressionThoughtMake SenseFeelingDistressJournalWriteExpressSuppress
Book:Strong Minds: How to Unlock the Power of Elite Sports Psychology to Accomplish Anything
Create image