Quotes About Escape

Well we have a tiny garden, it's like a postage stamp, so generally we try to get out to the parks in London as much as possible.

You hear people saying, 'Oh I'm so tired, I've had enough of Cannes.' How can you have enough of Cannes? It's just the best place to be, like a fairytale.

I like to cook, but mostly Greek. When I am confused or tired, I think about what I can cook. It takes you away from everything, as you are thinking only of your dish.

Christmas in the Caribbean, after a tiring flight, may sweep you out of the cold but it's not a real Christmas, is it?

I did a film called 'The Escape Artist' for Francis Coppola. I had the title role.

To be honest, I just want to go somewhere where I can wear a white Speedo.

To be honest, acting was something where I got a chance to be somebody else and forget about the situation I was in.

To be honest, whenever I run away from something, I land up straight into it.

I used to love assemblies because it got me out of class.

Just like an animal, when you want to survive, you don't think anymore.

I have learned that I must take a holiday at least once each year if I want to survive!

I don't think you can say something is or isn't magic. That's what was cool about Houdini, because he was a magician who had a magic show, but he was also an escape artist, and they kind of, over time, blended together. They both kind of enhance each other, I think.

When you're reading, you're not where you are; you're in the book. By the same token, I can write anywhere.

I've only ever written to escape from hell - and it's never worked - but at the other end of it when you sit there and watch something and think that's the most perfect expression of hell that I felt then maybe it was worth it.

More than anything he wanted to read, because only in a book could he escape from his own dark thoughts.

Small Moth... She's slicing ripe white peaches into the Tony the Tiger bowl and dropping slivers for the dog poised vibrating by her foot to stop their fall when she spots it, camouflaged, a glimmer and then full on- happiness, plashing blunt soft wings inside her as if it wants to escape again.

I read sad stories to inoculate myself against grief. I watch action movies to identify with the quick-witted heroes. Both the same fantasy: I'll escape the worst of it.

It takes time to recover from having run somewhere. But sometimes one just wants to run. Anywhere.

But I'm doing her a favor, letting her escape her suffering into mine.

There are two kinds of people: those who can't perform the act when they're sad and those who perform it only to escape sadness.

If I was really, really lucky, Felix might throw a fireball at me, and I'd get out of the rest of this freakshow.

The future felt like a herd of buffalo stampeding straight at me, and all I wanted was to get the fuck out of the way.

I ride behind the dog out of the city; the city of burning, the city of ghosts. When the gatemouth has shrunk behind us, the dog stops and come back and ties my hands to the saddle. Then we ride again. I don't know how long we ride. Everything hurts, and the city is screaming behind me.

The room looked exactly as it had looked when I left the Siddons house for good at the age of eighteen, as if the intervening years had never happened, as if my escape had been nothing but a dream.