Quotes About Unsettled

The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.

My Carmen, I said (I used to call her that sometimes) we shall leave this raw sore town as soon as you get out of bed. ... Because, really, I continued, there is no point in staying here. There is no point in staying anywhere, said Lolita.

The few times I said to myself anywhere: 'Now that's a nice spot for a permanent home,' I would immediately hear in my mind the thunder of an avalanche carrying away the hundreds of far places which I would destroy by the very act of settling in one particular nook of the earth.

I was unbathed, unshaven, and had had no bowel movement. My nerves were a-jangle.

Finn drifted around, rootless and aimless as dandelion fluff in the wind.

I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.

My family moved a lot as a kid. We started in Colorado, where I lived for five years. We moved to Chicago for two years, to San Francisco for one year, Connecticut for seven, Oregon for a couple years, and then I went to school. So I was always moving, I'm still always moving.

It was always unpleasant, moving like this; it always brought home to you the essential rootlessness of yourself and all men like you, always on the move, never really stopping anywhere, never really home.

Maya departs for city, cat, and lover. The days grow shorter. Summer's over. We take long walks among the flying leaves And ponder turnings taken by our lives. Look at each other closely, as friends will On parting. This is not farewell, Not now. Yet something in the sad End-of-season light remains unsaid.

I didn't go to school, because I never stayed anywhere long enough, so I was completely closed off from the outside world. I had no idea about anything.

I've never really been in a steady place.

For the first time Topper's established routine of living gave place to a disorderly desire to live.

Jenna," he started, "my life is so up in the air. I have nowhere

I'm on the road constantly. I'm a nomad. I don't really have a home right now. I don't identify with one place in particular.

I've seldom become nostalgic or settled.

There's a sense in all my novels that nothing is certain.

Also, and most disconcertingly, why did the recollection of the young courier kneeling before her—the brief pressure of his hand upon her bare instep as he had helped guide it inside the slipper, the golden brown of his gaze that had lingered one moment too long on her lips, the soft burr of his accent (like her, he had come from a distant land as a child)—why did it make her feel so profoundly unsettled?

Itinerant degenerates bleeding westward like some heliotropic plague.

People dont feel safe no more, he said. We're like the Comanches was two hundred years ago. We dont know what's goin to show up here come daylight. We dont even know what color they'll be.

Connie went away completely bewildered. She was not sure whether she had been insulted and mortally offended, or not.

He felt a sort of emptiness, almost like a vacuum in his soul. He was unsettled and restless.

But I wasn't mad or happy. And as I lay in bed trying to read, I realized that upset had been overshadowed by uneasy. I felt as though someone was watching me. I got so spooked I even got up to check out the window and in the closet and under the bed, but the feeling still didn't go away. It took me nearly until midnight to understand what it was. It was me. Watching me.

Before I was really ready to settle in, dawn was creeping up outside, flushing the far side of the curtains. I could feel it approaching, like the footsteps of someone unpleasant coming up the stairs.

Why does it feel like night today? Something in the air's not right today Why am I so uptight today? Paranoia's all I got left