Quotes About Escape

Simple pleasures are always the last refuge of the complex

It is through… Art and Art only that we can shield ourselves from the sordid perils of actual existence.

One should not be too severe on English novels; they are the only relaxation of the intellectually unemployed.

Action is the last refuge of those who cannot dream.

Napoleon the greatest of the conquerors, is a sufficient proof that great men of action are criminals, and, therefore not geniuses. One can understand him by thinking of the tremendous intensity with which he tried to escape from himself.

I need not say that in this place I had never ceased to passionately regret my dear old master in the noble pine woods of the Peak. Indeed, I had sometimes lamented for him aloud in a grief that brought on me angry words and even angry strokes; so little sympathy have men or women ever with our woes, although for theirs we feel so keenly and fret ourselves so ceaselessly. Twenty times at least had I endeavored to run away, with the full intent of trying to find my road back alone

I flee who chases me and chase who flees me.

If you could trade out and be, say, Godzilla, wouldn't you jump on it, dear? Couldn't you then forgo your bad haircuts and dour wardrobe and moping ways and begin to have some fun, as Godzilla? What might we have to give you to induce you to become Godzilla and leave us alone? Shall we await your answer?

A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.

Like sometimes when you go to a movie and you get so lost in the story that when you're walking out of the theater you can't remember anything at all about your own life.

All those people - poor Sr. Marquez, Ana-Letitia, Sergio - they died because of me? I brought that down on them? Oh, God!" Then she turned and fled up the stairs. "Well, I'd say you handled that with great sensivity." "Go to hell, Hunter!" Zach stood there, staring after her. "Your first.

There was a shiftiness to kids who secreted themselves in a corner to read God knows what instead of what they should have been doing. Reading when you were supposed to be raking the leaves, reading when you were supposed to be sleeping, reading when you were supposed to be making the bed, not lying in it. I did everything I could to read my way out of doing anything else. It was the one thing I was good at.

All of these video games are rotting my brain. I'm gonna go watch T.V. instead

L']imagination garde en réserve une panoplie de sorties de secours.

What are we running for When there's no where we can run to anymore?

I did not want to think about people. I wanted the trees, the scents and colors, the shifting shadows of the wood, which spoke a language I understood. I wished I could simply disappear in it, live like a bird or a fox through the winter, and leave the things I had glimpsed to resolve themselves without me.

Running from vampires, again. Still. Go me!

The cat has always been associated with the moon. Like the moon it comes to life at night, escaping from humanity and wandering over housetops with its eyes beaming out through the darkness.

If the spell can't be broken, if you are with a Spellbound person who will not change, your spiritual, if not your physical survival may depend upon your escaping.

But there was not a moment when she did not see Carol in her mind, and all she saw, she seemed to see through Carol. That evening, the dark flat streets of New York, the tomorrow of work, the milk bottle dropped and broken in her sink, became unimportant. She flung herself on her bed and drew a line with a pencil on a piece of paper. And another line, carefully, and another. A world was born around her, like a bright forest with a million shimmering leaves.

But sometimes I still think about Mr Ramsay and the summer evenings when he would stand in the centre of the paddock and I would ride Perdita in that magic circle that shut out the troubled unease of the world and enclosed the three of us in a dream of fair horses.

My greatest fear is being somewhere without a book.

The stakes are high. One sound before we escape and we're stuck with our five-year-old brother, Steadman, for the rest of the morning. Steadman has a mouth that closes only to chomp down on chocolate bars and potato chips.

They flew out of town as if all the devils in hell were after them, but once out of sight, Cade slowed the horse and inquired anxiously, "Are you all right? I wasn't thinking. The child...?" Lily leaned her head against his back and gasped for breath now that the horse had found a steady pace. She shook her head in answer to his question. "I rode an oxen wagon from Mississippi when I was four months gone with Roy. I am fine." This