Quotes About Escape

I loved reading but I loved books almost as much. Their look, their smell, their weight enshrined, to me, the worth that others found in religion, in bricks and mortar, even in relationships. A book could be friend, lover, family, priest, but more reliable than any of these. With books, one could wall off the world. In their shelter, a calm prevailed more profound than that of the stars or the sea.

Earth seemed a place of exile and I dreamt of heaven.

The garden is a kind of sanctuary.

Smith wiped grass and dirt from his butt and scowled at their surroundings as though they hadn't just escaped a fascist clusterfuckturducken of epic scale and infinite suckage.

What a fool, quoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle.

The Imagi-Nation is a little country in your head. When you're young, you go there to play. When you get older, you go there to worry.

The arts generally have had to recognize Modernism - how should poetry escape?

What if they found a trapdoor out of this dead universe? A hole? A black hole? A place where the tyranny of time and space couldn't reach?

Get yourself out of whatever cage you find yourself in.

God tolerates even our stammering, and pardons our ignorance whenever something inadvertently escapes us - as, indeed, without this mercy there would be no freedom to pray.

himself, even if the means of escape lay before him; nay, he embraces him not less as the avenger of wickedness than as the rewarder of the righteous; because he perceives that it equally appertains to his glory to store up punishment for the one, and eternal life for the other.

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to all people. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

If the heart is vigilant (Song 5.2), then sleep is nothing for the body; this is like a person who is almost snoring and, when he hears robbers breaking in, does everything possible to escape them. Thus, if we are able to understand, we shall see that we are exactly like this.

There was a young lady from Gloucester Who complained that her parents both bossed her, So she ran off to Maine. Did her parents complain? Not at all -- they were glad to have lost her.

They were both an escape from reality and an alternative reality themselves.

These stories were very old, as old as people, and they had survived because they were very powerful indeed. These were the tales that echoed in the head long after the books that contained them were cast aside. They were both an escape from reality and an alternative reality themselves.

This killing of his 'mythology' how could he survive it? His 'mythology' had been his escape from life, his escape into a world where machinery could not reach him, his escape into a deep, green, lovely world where thoughts unfolded themselves like large, beautiful leaves growing out of fathoms of blue-green water!

girdled in story, trapped in story, and the only way out was to go through.

He had thought the story was *theirs*, People's, that he was in it by chance, somehow impelled into it by reasons not his, that it was a thing torn out of Ymr that shouldn't be in Ka at all. But Kits was right, it was he who'd been in it, not People, however much they wanted to be and he had not. It was his story, and the stories about the story were his too. He was girdled in story, trapped in story, and the only way out was through.

We're all running away. Some of us just don't get very far.

But he began to lampoon the rise of Hitler, and soon his life was entangled in global politics. He was playing an engagement in Stockholm when the Nazis invaded Denmark in April 1940, and, believing himself to be on Hitler's "extermination list," he escaped to New York with his wife. He arrived in the United States with no personal belongings and ignorant of American customs and speech.

Drugs are marvelous--it's life that's evil. And sometimes the only way to face it is to get completely twisted.

Since I was two years old, all I knew was gospel music. That music became such a part of my life it was as natural as dancing. A way to escape from the problems. And my way of release.

What are clouds, but an excuse for the sky? What is life, but an escape from death?