Quotes About Escape

No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.

Tony looked at me with the long-suffering patience of an adult child who knew an educational lecture was coming and there was no way to escape. "One

You did more than anyone could ask. You bought more than enough time for Cornelius to deploy his iron pan and for Rynda to escape.

Time may have taught him patience with less agile minds, but it could hardly teach him how to escape boredom in their presence.

Look into my eyes and despair. For I'm Punishment, and you cannot escape me.

Some people awoke to escape their nightmares. I awoke into one.

Tony looked at me with the long-suffering patience of an adult child who knew an educational lecture was coming and there was no way to escape.

Everybody except for the firebug ran for the staircase. I decided to run too, just so I wouldn't be left out.

Landon spun the wheel. The Land Rover nearly careened, turning off the road. Landon parked and bolted out of the car, slapping the driver's door closed behind him.

The library had become her solace. Her refuge.Books did not question or judge. They made safe companions.

Draga moja prijateljice, imam sezdeset godina, ne plasim se smrti! - Zasto onda odlazite? - Ne mogu da podnesem ovaj haos, ove izlive mrznje, odvratni prizor rata. Otici cu u beki miran kutak, na selo. Zivecu od ono malo para sto mi je ostalo dok se ljudi ponovo ne dozovu pameti.

Ancora un'ora persa, sprofondata nel nulla, che è colata via tra le dita come acqua e che non tornerà più... Vorrei andarmene lontano, oppure morire....

So they headed out of Paris on foot, past the city gates, dragging their bags behind them in the dust, then on into the suburbs, into the countryside, all the while thinking, 'This can't be happening! I must be dreaming!' Like all the others, the Michauds started walking.

Violence is born of the desire to escape oneself.

And she did seem then to go to sleep instantly: the quick flight into oblivion of the chronically unhappy person.

I lead a worthless life, he thought, I live in unreality and untruth. If only there could be total change, regeneration, escape. If only I could run and run and get back to the people, back to where real wholesome, ordinary life is being lived. I have given myself a mean role and cannot now stop enacting it. Oh if only I could get out! But even as he thought these familiar thoughts he knew: unreality is my reality, untruth is my truth, I am too old now and I have no other way.

You daren't think, so you live in a dream.

That too was part of a machine from which she had not, for all her 'feelings' and her 'principles', the spirit or the courage really to escape.

Why did I ever leave them, what was I fleeing from? What spoilt scene that I could not then endure?

Like Proust I want to escape from the eternal push and rattle of time into the coolness and poise of a work of art. (Agreeing with Huxley for once, I think it is not what one has experienced, but what one does with what one has experienced that matters. The only possible doctrine of course for one who has experienced remarkably little of the big world!)

Now, for the first time, he's seeing that there really is a way out of this, and it's all so simple. You don't have to run away. You just meet somebody special and step sideways into a parallel universe.

Dintotdeauna cititul însemnase pentru el bucuria cea mai mare È™i mai statornic?, È™i cu atât mai mult îl pasiona acum, când în povestea triumfului sau a înfrângerilor, a suferinÈ›elor sau a bucuriilor altora g?sea o evadare din umbra st?ruitoare a propriei sale nereuÈ™ite... în fiecare carte pe care o citea încerca s? descopere È›elul care ar putea da vieÈ›ii lui un nou sens.

Fakat art?k dünyan?n ne olduÄŸunu biliyordu: ÖzgürlüÄŸün s?n?rs?zl???yla kuÅŸat?lm?? bir hapishane..

The Dantean conceptions of Inferno were childish and unworthy of the divine imagination: fire and torture. Boredom is much more subtle. The inner torture of a mind unable to escape itself in any way, condemned to fester in its own exuding mental pus for all time, is much more fitting.