Quotes About Escape

But Imperial stormtroopers were something else entirely. He and the others had survived a couple of brief encounters with them aboard the Death Star, but even at the time he'd had the feeling the Imperials had been taken by surprise and weren't operating at full efficiency. Now, of course, he knew that Tarkin and Vader had deliberately allowed the Falcon and its crew to escape so they could track it to Yavin 4.

A Hollow is a 'fallen' soul, souls that weren't brought to Soul Society by a Shinigami, souls that escaped, souls that weren't protected from Hollows. The soul degeneartes, loses its heart and becomes a Hollow. To fill its empty heart, it seeks out those it loved most in its past life." - Rukia Kuchiki

Storytelling is an escape from the jail of the self, leading to the ultimate adventure--seeing life through the eyes of another.

O for a beakerful of the warm South!

As long as a population can be induced to believe in a supernatural hereafter, it can be oppressed and controlled. People will put up with all sorts of tyranny, poverty, and painful treatment if they're convinced that they'll eventually escape to some resort in the sky where lifeguards are superfluous and the pool never closes. Moreover, the faithful are usually willing to risk their skins in whatever military adventure their government may currently be promoting.

I've sucked way too much cement for this year. Bad juju rising off them city sidewalks. I need to babble with a brook or two, inhale starlight, make friends with some trees.

The purpose of art is to provide what life does not.

The principal difference between an adventurer and a suicide is that the adventurer leaves himself a margin of escape (the narrower the margin the greater the adventure), a margin whose width and length may be determined by unknown factors but whose navigation is determined by the measure of the adventurer's nerve and wits. It is exhilarating to live by one's nerves or toward the summit of one's wits.

Life is too small a container for certain individuals. Some of them, such as Alobar, huff and puff and try to expand the container. Others, such as Kudra, seek to pry the lid off and hop out.

Sometimes, though, I feel that pushing books is a whole lot like pushing medicine. Think of books as pills. I have pills that cure ignorance and pills that cure boredom. I have pills to elevate moods and pills to open people's eyes to the awful truth: uppers and downers as they were. I sell pills to help people find themselves and pills to help them lose themselves when they require escape from the pressures and anxieties of life in a complex society...

And if your master truly loved you, he would tell you that. In order to escape the bounds of earthly experience, you bind yourself to a master. Bound is bound. If your master really loved you, he would not demand your devotion. He would set you free--from himself, first of all.

nothing the human race has ever invented is more cool than a book.

So it was that neither for the first time nor the last my verbal mojo, my knack for the written word, served to save my reckless ass.

Ice cubes clink against the swizzle stick of your spinal column, and you start to wonder if this would not be the ideal moment to go home, take a hot shower, and curl up with a glass of chardonnay in front of a friendly computer.

The fetus bailed out without a parachute.

I extract significance from melodrama, a significance which it does not in fact contain; but occasionally, from out of this matter, there escapes a thin beam of light that, seen at the right angle, can crack the shell of mortality.

He screamed and shouted 'Wooeeeee!' at Guitar's list, but because his life was not unpleasant and even had a certain amount of luxury in addition to its comfort, he felt off center. He just wanted to beat a path away from his parents' past, which was also their present and which was threatening to become his present as well.

The one set of plans she had made—getting away from Sweet Home—went awry so completely she never dared life by making more.

First a playroom (where the silence was softer), then a refuge (from her brothers' fright), soon the place became the point.

Move. Walk. Run. Hide. Steal and move on.

Above all he wanted to escape what he knew, escape the implications of what he had been told. And all he knew in the world about the world was what other people had told him.

Six months into the bliss of edible sex, free-style music, challenging books and the company of an easy undemanding Bride, the fairy-tale castle collapsed into the mud and sand on which its vanity was built. And Booker ran away.

Jumping from the roof of Mercy was the most interesting thing he had done.

He just wanted to beat a path away from his parents' past, which was also their present and which was threatening to become his present as well.