Quotes About Release

I loved Eddie. You know that, Stan. He'll be enshrined in my heart until I draw my last breath. But he can't be enshrined in my life. I've got to let go and move on. So do you.

Griff lowered his window as Turner drove through the gates of the federal prison camp that had been his home for the past five years. The area in which he'd been incarcerated was classified minimum security, but it was still prison.

their heart grew cold they let their wings down

Those who try to grasp on to the mystery will never succeed. Only those who let it slip their fingers will come to know it, and hear its secrets

Actually, it's not so much that I've forgotten. It's more like I've stopped keeping track.

I see a broken shell and I remind myself that something might have needed setting free. See, broken things always have a story, don't they?

That crazy kind of laughing that feels almost the same as crying.

I can't be bound by a past self I don't remember.

If you didn't love him, this never would have happened. But you did. And accepting that love and everything that followed it is part of letting it go.

It is kind of hard to hold a lot in. But for me… it's sometimes even harder to let it out.

And trying to break it down this way, to minor and major offenses, maybes and what-ifs, was like arguing over the origin of cracks in a broken egg. It was done. How it happened didn't matter anymore.

As I spoke, I realized I'd held these words in for so long and so tightly that I felt the space they left empty once released. It was vast enough that I could think of nothing to follow them.

Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

Me - I was not born with enough fuel. My anger often melts into sadness, it will just disintegrate into shame or fear, my clenched teeth release into chatter.

What a happiness it would be to cry.

The earth was a grave: our life was lent to it by its elements and had to be returned: a time came when the simple elements seemed to long for release from the complicated forms of life, when every element of every cell said, Enough! The planet was our mother and our burial ground. No wonder the human spirit wished to leave. Leave this prolific belly. Leave also this great tomb. Passion for the infinite caused by the terror, by timor mortis, needed material appeasement.

When a man's breast feels like a cage from which all the dark birds have flown—he is free, he is light. And he longs to have his vultures back again. He wants his customary struggles, his nameless, empty works, his anger, his afflictions and his sins.

Suppose, then, that after the greatest , most passionate vividness and tender glory, oblivion is all were have to expect, the big blank of death. What options present themselves? One option is to train yourself gradually into oblivion so that no great change has taken place when you have died. Another option is to increase the bitterness of life so that death is a desirable release. (In this the rest of mankind will fully collaborate.)

What is the subconscious process of healing? What does it take? Perhaps it is something like how old schoolers would say you heal from a snakebite: having to spit out the venom again and again until there is no more.

To forgive and forget means to throw away dearly bought experience.

were going to be released, for fear of compromising Special

I often feel that way, I would like to open one of my veins, to bring me eternal freedom.

I use no lengthened invocation: Here rustles one that soon will work my liberation.

So ist's mir oft, ich möchte mir eine Ader öffnen, die mir die ewige Freiheit schaffte