Quotes About Imprisonment

The amateur allows his worth and identity to be defined by others. The amateur craves third-party validation. The amateur is tyrannized by his imagined conception of what is expected of him. He is imprisoned by what he believes he ought to think, how he ought to look, what he ought to do, and who he ought to be.

Once again we were in captivity.

We accepted our situation meekly. How quickly we became prisoners, how quickly we gave up our freedom, how quickly we tolerated the loss of that freedom, like a child being abused, in silence. In this world, there were no individual demands, and asking permission for everything was infantilizing. So we began to understand our students, who had never been able to do anything on their own.

I thought about how unlikely it was I would ever meet any guy,fall in love, get married, have babies. Especially since I was going to spend the rest of my life in the cellar, where, in the not too distant future, I'd turn into a toadstool. I hoped I'd be the poisonous variety.

I think that the old-young polarization and the male-female polarization are perhaps the two leading stereotypes that imprison people. The values associated with youth and with masculinity are considered to be the human norms, and anything else is taken to be at least less worthwhile or inferior.

It seemed off that anyone could live behind such a high hedge of thorns, and he began to think it would be no great surprize to discover that Mr. Wyvern had been asleep for a hundred years or so. 'Well, I shall not mind that so much,' he thought, 'so long as I am not expected to kiss him.

Beautiful flames, can destroy so many things—prison walls that hold you, stitches that bind you fast.

Nothing could be more fearful than losing one's freedom. To be confined. Never to see a golden cloudburst or rivers of sunlight on dark flowers. never to walk your own cultivated furrows. And the memory dangled over his heart like the sword of Damocles.

Why are you here?" she whispered, once he'd finally got the damnable Miss Finch out of the room. For a moment he could only stare. "You're not seriously asking me that." "I—" "You left me." She shook her head. "I set you free." He snorted at that. "You've had me locked up for over a year.

I never told a victim story about my imprisonment. Instead, I told a transformation story - about how prison changed my outlook, about how I saw that communication, truth, and trust are at the heart of power.

Get me outta these ropes and into a good belt of Scotch.

Müüre ehitatakse selleks, et end kaitsta, kuid ühel päeval saab neist müüridest vangla.

She's got us, she's got us all. Caverna. She doesn't want to let us go. Do you know what she's like? A huge trap-lantern with us inside her, digesting us really, really slowly, and not wanting to let any of us go. Maybe that's the worst kind of prison – not knowing you're in a prison. Because then you don't fight to get out.

Many a criminal has finally given himself over to the authorities because the accusations of a guilty conscience were worse than prison bars.

I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead…. He is now a prisoner to the white man.

A man returns to die, between four walls, with the dawn, a collar of iron around the neck, to the withers, the tongue hanging ... as on the Goya print.

Non so se mi sono espresso bene. Il fatto e che, col suo bagaglio d'esperienza, l'adulto guasta gli anni della propria infanzia, li contamina con la sensazione di oppressione che prova. Come se qualcuno che ha vissuto per lungo tempo in uno splendido giardino, durante una passegiata piu lunga del solito, si accorgesse che il parco e delimitato dal muro di una prigione di cui ignorava l'esistenza.

I am caught like a beast at bay.Somewhere are people, freedom, light,But all I hear is the baying of the pack,There is no way out for me.

Some hundreds of years may have passed. I don't know. AM has been having fun for some time, accelerating and retarding my time sense. I will say the word now. Now. It took me ten months to say now. I don't know. I think it has been some hundreds of years.

Out of what I knew not, yet I did not believe that twelve years of unrelieved boredom was exactly what the state had in mind for me.

I felt the starched walls of a pink cotton penitentiary closing in on me, and for the second time in my life I thought of running away.

I am living in hell from one day to the next. But there is nothing I can do to escape. I don't know where I would go if I did. I feel utterly powerless, and that feeling is my prision. I entered of my own free will, I locked the door, and I threw away the key.

How about Proust's In Search of Lost Time? Tamaru asked. If you've never read it this would be a good opportunity to read the whole thing. Have you read it? No, I haven't been in jail, or had to hide out for a long time. Someone once said unless you have those kinds of opportunities, you can't read the whole of Proust.

It was as good as sealing yourself into a dungeon. Walled in, with nowhere to go but your own doom.