Quotes About Exile

El exiliado mira hacia el pasado, lamiéndose las heridas; el inmigrante mira hacia el futuro, dispuesto a aprovechar las oportunidades a su alcance.

La nostalgia desgasta y aniquila, es el vicio de los desterrados.

I am frightened. I have known fear before, but there was always an escape; even during the terror of the military coup there was the salvation of exile. Now I am in a blind alley with all doors closed to hope, and I don't know how to handle so much fear.

even though the majority of Chileans, especially the entire middle class, supported him. Parliament (again the parliament!) made it difficult for him to govern; it forced him to resign his position and exiled him to Europe.

No sólo perdía a Rosa, su madre, los amigos, el trabajo y su pasado. Perdía su patria. —Mi país..., mi país... —sollozó.

y en el atolondramiento del exilio perdí las fotografías que prueban mi paso por aquellos lugares, de modo que aquel pedazo de mi pasado puede ser simplemente un sueño, como tantos que me tuercen la realidad.

More ...ambos sentían el corazón roto, su país había sucumbido a la insensatez de la violencia, su familia estaba dispersa, sus hijos lejos, los amigos muertos o en exilio, se encontraban sin trabajo y con pocos recursos en una ciudad extranjera...

ambos sentían el corazón roto, su país había sucumbido a la insensatez de la violencia, su familia estaba dispersa, sus hijos lejos, los amigos muertos o en exilio, se encontraban sin trabajo y con pocos recursos en una ciudad extranjera...

I mean, Turkey is my country. You know, it's my flag. That is where we're raised... My family is born there. So that's why, like, it's tough to see that... your country don't want you.

Because the last time I saw my family was 2015. Sometimes I even forget what they look like, you know? It's so hard to communicate with them. Because Turkish police raided my house. They took electronics away, computers away. They wanted to see if I'm still in contact with my family or not. Any single text, they will all be in jail.

The Christian experiences and lives a paradox. He possesses joy in sorrow, fulfillment in exile, light in darkness, peace in turmoil, consolation in dryness, contentment in pain and hope in desolation.

I think there is a heritage which I'm proud of, which is a fight for democracy, a fight for social justice, a fight for freedom. My grandfather went to jail or exile six times in his life, fighting for his principles for democracy, or for his country. And my father twice.

I never considered myself as somebody in exile because, different to my father who, yes, was in exile because he left Haiti as an adult, for me it was just to be somewhere else. I carried Haiti with me everywhere, but I also carried, you know, my youth in a public school in Brooklyn. It's part of who I am as well.

We refugees, we become always a punchbag. A political punchbag between China and South Korea and North Korea.

Although I am losing my Soviet citizenship, I do not cease to be a Russian poet.

The one who can draw your widest smileis also the one who can throw youto the farthest exile

In an antique city-state, or a modern municipality, shame is the penalty for the violation of ethics—making things more symmetric. Banishment and exile, or, worse, ostracism were severe penalties—people did not move around voluntarily and considered uprooting a horrible calamity. In larger organisms like the mega holy nation-state, with a smaller role for face-to-face encounters, and social roots, shame ceases to fulfill its duty of disciplinarian.

I think poets are people who are like this; for whatever reason you feel psychological exile because you're always an outsider...

At long last, on October 5, Tronstad returned to Norway, dropping by parachute into the Vidda. His "long exile" was over.

Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer; Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées, Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer; Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées, Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

The poet resembles this prince of cloud and sky Who frequents the tempest and laughs at the bowman; When exiled on the earth, the butt of hoots and jeers, His giant wings prevent him from walking.

O Poeta é como esse príncipe que voa sobre as praias/ Que moteja o arqueiro e assombra a tempestade no ar;/ No chão, exilado e em meio a vaias,/ As suas asas de gigante não o permitem caminhar.

With the snow piling up outside, the warm dry cabin hidden in its fold of the mountain felt like a safe haven indeed, though it had not been such for the people who had lived there. Soldiers had found them and made the cabin trailhead to a path of exile, loss, and death. But for a while that night, it was a place that held within its walls no pain nor even a vague memory collection of pain.