Quotes About Escape

I love reading books, I love the way they feel and getting through it. It's like an event!

She felt free of everything that weighted her down on Earth. Free of danger, free of any pain she'd ever felt. Free of gravity.And so in love.

I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe!

How I'd love to get away from here and be someone else for a while in a place where no one knows or expects certain things from me.

What my true addiction is is reading. I love to read. If I'd get too loaded, I couldn't remember the sentence I just read.

I don't love all hip-hop, but I do relate to stuff like early Nas, 2Pac, Biggie, and MF Doom because they're also trying to escape a scenario.

I love traveling; it's, like, my perfect escape.

Of all the things that make for happiness, the love of books comes first. No matter how the world may have used us, sure solace lies there.

One of the many reasons why gardens are increasingly precious to us in this day and age is that they help us to escape from the tyranny of speed. Our skies are streaked with jets, our roads have turned to race-tracks, and in the cities the crowds rush to and fro as though the devil were at their heels. But as soon as we open the garden gate, Time seems almost to stand still, slowing down to the gentle ticking of the Clock of the Universe.

Thankfully, Plott hadn't taken them very far inside.

Ramona wished she could run, run, run out of that classroom as she had the day before and never come back.

I wanted to quit and to do this forever, sleep in a bed and in a tent, see what was over the next hill and never see a hill again. All of this all at once, every moment, on the trail or off.

To my surprise, I felt a certain springy keenness. I was ready to hike. I had waited months for this day, after all, even if it had been mostly with foreboding. I wanted to see what was out there. All over America today people would be dragging themselves to work, stuck in traffic jams, wreathed in exhaust smoke. I was going for a walk in the woods. I was more than ready for this.

I had come to realize that I didn't have any feelings towards the AT that weren't thoroughly contradictory. I was weary of the trail, but captivated by it; found the endless slog increasingly exhausting but ever invigorating; grew tired of the boundless woods but admired their boundlessness; enjoyed the escape from civilization and ached for its comforts. All of this together, all at once, every moment, on the trail or off.

What a joy walking is. All the cares of life, all the hopeless, inept fuckwits that God has strewn along the Bill Bryson Highway of Life, suddenly seem far away and harmless, and the world becomes tranquil and welcoming and good.

On gray days, when it's snowing or raining, I think you should be able to call up a judge and take an oath that you'll just read a good book all day, and he'd allow you to stay home.

Hobbes: UGH! something under the bed is drooling. Calvin: Start tying the sheets. We'll go out the window.

Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield.

I use music as some kind of weird salvation to get away from life

To me, music was about being accepted and escaping from this crummy existence

The only thing that consoles us for our miseries is diversion. And yet it is the greatest of our miseries. For it is that above all which prevents us thinking about ourselves and leads is imperceptibly to destruction. But for that we should be bored, and boredom would drive us to seek some more solid means of escape, but diversion passes our time and brings us imperceptibly to our death.

Nothing is good but mediocrity. The majority has settled that, and finds fault with him who escapes it at whichever end.

For, not seeing the whole truth, they could not attain to perfect virtue. Some considering nature as incorrupt, others as incurable, they could not escape either pride or sloth, the two sources of all vice; since they cannot but either abandon themselves to it through cowardice, or escape it by pride.

There must be some kind of way out of here,' said the joker to the thief...