Quotes About Walls

There is no end. There is no cure. It gets worse with time. Cure. How can you cure an institution, we are bricks crumbling in the walls of despair. Death is inevitable for us all. But the insanity is here to stay.

The walls shrugged themselves loose from their foundations and slid towards the centre of the room, as if attracted by the struggle. The ceiling, a massive rectangular slab of concrete furrowed with fluorescent white, also shuddered loose and loomed down on her.

I know you're quiet a workman on God's eternal construction site and don't like hearing about demolition, but what can I do? Myself, I'm not one of God's bricklayers. Besides, if God's bricklayers built real walls, I doubt we'd be able to demolish them. But instead of walls all I see is stage sets. And stage sets are made to be demolished.

Love makes us similar, it creates equality, it breaks down walls and eliminates distances. God did this with us.

How can I tell McDermott that this is a very disjointed time of my life and that I notice the walls have been painted a bright, almost painful white and under the glare of the fluorescent lights they seem to pulse and glow.

It was said that [Vetinari] would tolerate absolutely anything apart from anything that threatened the city*... [Footnote] And mime artists. It was a strange aversion, but there you are. Anyone in baggy trousers and a white face who tried to ply their art anywhere within Ankh's crumbling walls would very quickly find themselves in a a scorpion pit, on one wall of which was painted the advice: Learn The Words.

her beam revealing ancient brick walls and the faint glimmer

The walls between Man and Faery are coming down.

The theme of the dance was "Great Romances," or some such nonsense. There were projections of supposedly great couples from the past on the walls of the gym. Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Hermione and Ron, Bonnie and Clyde, etc.

The walls are bare; look out of the window and you have a finer sight than any painter has ever placed on a piece of canvas.

although the high walls that surrounded his home might conceal the tongues of fire, they could no longer conceal the clouds of smoke.

We need a barn or one of those storage areas for the Broken vehicles. A garage? He gave her a short nod. A private, relatively remote location, with thick walls to dampen the sound and preferably a sturdy door I could bolt from the inside, keeping your grandmother, your brothers, and all other painfully annoying spectators out... Rose began to laugh. A make-out bunker... I'm glad you find our dilemma hilarious

Concrete you can mold, you can press it into - after all, you haven't any straight lines in your body. Why should we have straight lines in our architecture? You'd be surprised when you go into a room that has no straight line - how marvelous it is that you can feel the walls talking back to you, as it were.

roar poured through that ancient arched passageway, a wave of sound that buffeted soldier and prisoner alike, bouncing off the high walls and rising up amidst an explosion of terrified pigeons from the upper eaves.

Crypt walls. We all have them, there inside—you don't go there often, do you? It's where you keep your dead. Dead relatives, dead dreams, dead promises. Dead selves, so many of those, so many. When you loot, you only take the best things. The things you can use, the things you can sell. And when you seal it all up again, the darkness remains.

when one looks at innovation in nature and in culture, environments that build walls around good ideas tend to be less innovative in the long run than more open-ended environments.

A vibration is building up-within himself and the walls of the house.

A vibrating sense of danger and repressed fury seemed to seep through the walls of the hotel from outside.

Crumbling walls, adorned by basalt demons designed to frighten away invaders, cupped the wine cloaked marble villas and temples.

Aryami Bose's home had been closed up for years, inhabited only by books and paintings, but the spectre of thousands of memories imprisoned between its walls still permeated the house.

All the pictures on the walls, they all white as lilies and smiling like alligators.

tents whose lights inside shone nuclear at twilight, soullike, through the crosshatched walls, turning canvas to fine

They walked down the corridor, the walls of which were covered with baby animals and their mothers or fathers. They passed a big tiger with dark stripes, guarding its tiny cub; it reminded her of the man next to her.

The pictures on the walls would show his family and friends and Lori and no towheaded Amish-clad spawn of Satan, and