Quotes About Escape

Her salvation was the novels she read. On nights she thought it might br better not to be alive w/o Levi in the world, she opened a book and was therefore saved, discovering that a novel was as great an escape as any spell.

Lucy Green couldn't stop reading. She was a secret reader...

IT WASN'T EASY TO walk away from the past, even when you locked it up in a box for which there was no key. Memories rattle around late at night, they claw at the latch, escaping when you least expect them to do so.

To hell with human beings. I'd always felt safer with stories than with flesh and blood.

And yet he imagined leaping into the blue-green water, thousands of miles from here, in a land where no one followed the rules set forth, where a sin might float like a flower in a fountain and a man was free to do as he pleased.

thought if I ever fell in love, I would want my beloved to wish what I had come to wish, that the book had ended differently, so that the first Mrs. Rochester might have made her escape.

her soul was in her mouth, ready to escape as a puff of air

don't read. It's a waste of time. It's just for people who want to escape real life.

There are so many ways to stop the knowing, and I tried them all. I tried silence, I tried heroin, I tried calling it love. And then I stopped trying to call my dumbness any one of ten thousand names.

Once upon a time, before the whole world changed, it was possible to run away from home, disguise who you were, and fit into polite society

It's just for people who want to escape real life." Isabel remembered what books had meant to her so long ago, and she suddenly had a longing for all those fictional worlds that had helped her through the worst years of her life.

It was the middle of winter, when the whole world was white, and a wolf and her and her cub had been chased as far as they could go. There was no escape,at least not for both. When the mother wolf ran to attach the hunters, all they saw were her claws and her fangs.While they shot her, the cub disappeared into the snow. That was the moment when it's coat turned from black to white so that is was forever after invisible to the hunters.

From the time I could read, I found solace in my father's library...At the ages of ten and eleven and twelve I would have preferred to remain in the library...

In a novel, you'll find yourself in a world of possibilities. You'll find shelter there.

Just like you still think you'll be happier if you run away.

Reading is the magic key that takes you where you want to be.

Even then Katya remained blind to the fact that as an adult she had ways of escaping her dilemma, that she could have separated from her husband.

In the tradition we are dealing with, it was considered obstinacy and was therefore frowned upon to have a will and mind of one's own. It is easy to understand that an intelligent child would want to escape punishments devised for those possessing these traits and that he or she could do so without any difficulty. What the child didn't realize was that escape came at a high price.

I loved taking off. In my own house, I seemed to be often looking for a place to hide - sometimes from the children but more often from the jobs to be done and the phone ringing and the sociability of the neighborhood. I wanted to hide so that I could get busy at my real work, which was a sort of wooing of distant parts of myself.

She read modern fiction too. Always fiction. She hated to hear the word 'escape' used about fiction. She might have argued, not just playfully, that it was real life that was the escape. But this was too important to argue about.

I was happy in the library. Walls of printed pages, evidence of so many created worlds--this was a comfort to me.

I loved taking off. In my own house, I seemed to be often looking for a place to hide--sometimes from the children but more often from the jobs to be done and the phone ringing and the sociability of the neighborhood. I wanted to hide so that I could get busy at my real work, which was a sort of wooing of distant parts of myself. I lived in a state of siege, always losing just what I wanted to hold on to[...] It was being a watcher that did it. A watcher, not a keeper.

Detestaba la palabra «evasión» aplicada a la ficción. Podría haber argumentado, y no solo por llevar la contraria, que la evasión era la vida real.

She hated to hear the word escape used about fiction. She might have argued, not just playfully, that it was real life that was the escape. But this was too important to argue about.