Quotes About Escape

Perhaps because the origins of a certain kind of love lie in an impulse to escape ourselves and our weaknesses by an alliance with the beautiful and noble. But if the loved ones love us back, we are forced to return to ourselves, and are hence reminded of the things that had driven us into love in the first place? Perhaps it was not love we wanted after all, perhaps it was simply someone to believe in--but how can we believe in the beloved now that they believe in us?

Seyahatler, dolayl? da olsa, iÅŸ ortam?n?n ve ayakta kalma mücadelesinin a??r koÅŸullar?ndan s?yr?ld???m?zda nas?l bir yaÅŸam?m?z olaca??n?, istediÄŸimiz gibi yaÅŸamaktan ne anlad???m?z? ortaya koyar.

If cynicism and love lie at opposite ends of a spectrum, do we not sometimes fall in love in order to escape the debilitating cynicism to which we are prone? Is there not in every coup de foudre a certain wilful exaggeration of the qualities of the beloved, an exaggeration which distracts us from our habitual pessimism and focuses our energies on someone in whom we can believe in a way we have never believed in ourselves?

what ease our seemingly entrenched lives might be altered were we simply to walk down a corridor and onto a craft that in a few hours would land us in a place of which we had no memories and where no one knew our name.

Pass the time?' said the Queen. 'Books are not about passing the time. They're about other lives. Other worlds. Far from wanting time to pass, Sir Kevin, one just wishes one had more of it. If one wanted to pass the time one could go to New Zealand.

Passar o tempo? - disse a Rainha. - Os livros não são para passar o tempo. São sobre outras vidas. Outros mundos. Longe de querer que o tempo passe, sir Kevin, quem nos dera ter mais. Se quiséssemos passar o tempo, íamos à Nova Zelândia.

Beyond the light was that distant line of horizon she had glimpsed from on high—a line like a solitary prison bar, needing no intersection with other bars to keep her jailed. And she decided then and there that she would not stay here and be mocked; she would not.

Get away from her, you!

was certain: His former colleagues would not understand, no matter how hard he tried to explain. No one fled the First Order and lived. The sand sucked at his feet as he stumbled toward the rising smoke. "Poe! Say something if you can hear me! Poe!" He did not expect a response, but he hoped for one. Flame had joined smoke

The very unfeasibility of it worked in their favor. He could not be a prisoner trying to escape, because prisoners simply did not escape.

She would have stayed there, blasting away wildly, had not Finn half dragged, half carried her away.

The Millennium Falcon rose.

And you wanted to escape,' a man near me whispered to another man. 'You wanted to run off into the woods and fight. But do you see? Do you see what the rest of them think about us? These people would sell you back to the Nazis for a sack of potatoes and then toast you at their dinner table.

But for people like Erasmus (with his "cry of thankful joy" on spying a fragment of print) or Lynne Sharon Schwartz ("Can I get back to my books now?"), books are the natural and inevitable and permanent means of being absorbed in something other than the self.

The first rule for escaping prison in the United States is always having someone more important than yourself to incriminate.

Tis Dante I prefer. In his Inferno he suggests the one true path from Hell lies at its very heart... ...and that in order to escape, we must instead go further IN.

She wasn't anyone special. She wasn't that brave, that clever or that strong. She was just somebody that felt cramped by the confines of her life. She was just somebody who had to get out. And she did it! She went out past Vega, out past Moulquet and Lambard! She saw places that aren't even there anymore! And do you know what she said? Her most famous quotation? Anybody could have done it

Three things, then. Escape, and finding work, and then explaining himself adequately. It was just those areas he had trouble with. Everything else, he was all right about.

sometimes you've got to do what you've got to do, and then sometimes you've just got to run like hell after it's done.

She had once loved sleep, had looked forward to being swallowed up by her slumber every night, but now sleep was something she chased. It was a furtive little animal that, even when caught, wriggled and scratched to free itself.

The mark of a good book is that you're happy to come home to it. The mark of a great book is that you occasionally schedule your life to stay home with it.

Lest we forget—that we are not the measure of all things. That reality has a force which we cannot legislate or legislate away. Lest we forget—that we are all carried out into the deep. I dream of escape, of swimming or floating or rafting away. And I dream of staying, of building monuments and religions and civilisations. But in the end we can't stay and we can't escape. So here I sit silent and restless.

For me, stripping was an unusual kind of escape. I had nothing to escape but privilege, but I claimed asylum anyway. At twenty-four, it was my last chance to reject something and become nothing. I wanted to terrify myself. Mission accomplished.

Scholarship was a hidey hole, a place where I could escape negative feelings. But as I learned more about the world, I realized that a life buried in books quite suited me.