Quotes About Wildness

J'aime la folle cruauté des chimères qu'on apprivoise.

Though American scenery is destitute of many of those circumstances that give value to the European, still it has features, and glorious ones, unknown to Europe...the most distinctive, and perhaps the most impressive, characteristic of American scenery is its wildness

Leave your books alone. Aren't you ashamed? Man is a wild beast, and wild beasts don't read.

Some prefer the wildness. Some the calm. There's enough of both in the world for everyone to have their choice. And enough time for any to change their mind.

Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us. To gallop intemperately; fall on the sand tired out; to feel the earth spin; to have - positively - a rush of friendship for stones and grasses, as if humanity were over, and as for men and women, let them go hang - there is no getting over the fact that this desire seizes up pretty often.

the winds and waves disported themselves like the amorphous bulks of leviathans whose brows are pierced by no light of reason...

There is no denying the wild horse in us.

What mad hope or hate makes the young beast's flanks pulsate, what black stars pierce the heart of the tamer!

Crazy? try ceiling-licking, rabies-frothing, dish-ran-away-with-the-spoon-in-fucking-sane." --Thanatos

Laugh—be jolly. There are those who think it lordly to be cold as a stone, but feelings are like wolves. When caged they become more ferocious, and at the end, they always escape.

I didn't know how it had happened. Maybe we'd forgotten the rules of normal society. Maybe we'd finally given ourselves over to the wildness of the island. Or maybe we'd been savage our wholes lives, rash and animalistic in the inside, and never known it till now.

If it is a wild tune, it is a poem... Theme alone can steady us down. Just as the first mystery was how a poem could have a tune in such a straightness as meter, so the second mystery is how a poem can have wildness and at the same time a subject that shall be fulfilled. It should be of the pleasure of the poem itself to tell how it can. The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom. The figure is the same as for love.

The men were wild as ourang-outans, and the women fit only to flog cattle.

Men like to flirt with, and sometimes even date a wild child, but those women aren't usually first on their lists for marriage or motherhood.

More than accepted, it's encouraged for rock stars to be out of control.

There's plenty of room for strangeness, mystery, originality, wildness, etc. in poems that also invite the reader into the human and alive center about which the poem circles.

It's like training dogs. You want the dog to obey you, but you can't have real respect for a dog that always obeys you. You want a dog that occasionally goes over the wall or bites the postman without your permission; you want to be reminded that you command a subdued yet wild animal, not a crawler. A man should be strong enough to kill you with his bare hands.

What rock n' roll was supposed to be about was getting loose, enjoying it, going a little crazy, and not caring how you act or dress.

There is a mammalian side to all of us; on occasion, it rears its head, snarls, makes a mess, acts the fool, howls at the moon, gives or gets a black eye.

Nor does God whisper through the trees. His voice is not to be mistaken. When men hear it they fall to their knees and their souls are riven and they cry out to Him and there is no fear in them but only that wildness of heart that springs from such longing and they cry out to stay his presence for they know at once that while godless men may live well enough in their exile those to whom He has spoken can contemplate no life without Him but only darkness and despair. Trees

He heard the fireman clank shut the door and leave and he poured the coffee and stirred in milk from a can and sipped and blew and read of wildness and violence across the cup's rim. As it was then, is now and ever shall.

Be a good animal,true to your instincts.

I too am not a bit tamed . . . . I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

Dream not...of having tasted all the grandeur & wildness of Fancy, till you have gone mad.