Quotes About Escape

All teenagers have this desire to somehow run away.

Habit has two parts, Toni [Packer] says. There is the habit itself (finger biting, smoking, drinking, whatever), and there is the observer who wants to stop, who is also a habit. And there is the conflict, the battle between the desire to indulge, which is an escape from what is, and the desire to stop, which is also a movement away from what is.

you're never alone if you've got a book for company.

Not like you have anything to lose," Em added, coming up beside us. "Find Buck, then we'll ditch this place. I'm ready for a three-way with Ben and Jerry

Run! my brain screamed, but my feet didn't move. Seriously. No movement at all, just like in one of those dreams where a giant dinosaur suddenly appears in the grocery store parking lot and you can't seem to start running away or even throw a package of chicken thighs to create a diversion, no matter how hard you try.

Fuckin' pussy thinks that maybe true love will conquer all, and then she'll climb onto his bike and they'll ride away into the sky on a rainbow while we all throw rose petals at them.

Maybe she feared there were different ways of being trapped than the ones she already knew.

I fantasize about having a manual job where I can come home at night, read a book and not feel responsible for what will happen the next day.

When you're in hell, only a devil can point the way out.

The trouble with running is wherever you run to, there you are.

There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.

thought had been to escape

There is a monotony to time in the air. Consistent air quality and temperature, limited collection of sounds, circumscribed range of motion for the passengers. Some people thrive within these restrictions and relax in the sky in a way they rarely do at home. They have powered down their phones and packed their computers in their luggage; they delight in being unreachable, and read novels, or giggle at sitcoms on the in-seat monitor.

The eagerness with which we endeavour to escape from misery, taught him to encourage a remote and romantic hope that Julia yet lived for him.

This man, of a nature too humane for his situation, was become wretched in it, and he determined mined to escape from his office before the expiration of the time for which he had been engaged. He thought that to be a guard over prisoners was nearly as miserable as being a prisoner himself. "I see no difference between them," said he, "except that the prisoner watches on one side of the door, and the centinel on the other.

At that time a lot of young men didn't want to go to the war and kill. This guy that I fell in love with was one of those so he escaped to Canada and I followed him.

Art, even as poetry, was to become not an escape from the narrowness of lived reality, but the overflow of intensified life.

Every weekday, rain or shine, gunplay or bombs, standoff or riots, I preferred to walk home, reading my latest book. This would be a 19th century book, because I did not like 20th century books, because I did not like the 20th century.

Her glance fell on the door to the library. Not even Paul's greatest admirer would call him a bookish man. This was her best bet for avoiding him. She whisked into the room and whirled to close the door, when she glanced up to see Giles a few steps behind her. With a shuddering gasp, she faltered back as he strode forward and shut them inside. Alone. Neither spoke a word as he seized her with ruthless hands and swept her into his arms.

I never knew a sorrow that an hour of reading could not assuage, a great man had once said. Let's put it to the test.

Was this my afternoon away from the funny farm where I lived during the rest of the week?

D?vains v?rietis… K? zivs… Kas vienm?r aizlok?s un izsl?d no rok?m…

I relied on what I wrote to build a bridge which could not be cut down. It was my own self in which I trusted, not seeing self as that last cell from which escape can only come too late.

They've all been against me, ever since I can remember, even when I was six years old. What sort of human beings are these, who can be inhuman to a child of six? How can I help hating them all? Sometimes they disgust me so much that I feel I can't go on living among them - that I must escape from the loathsome creatures swarming like maggots all over the earth.