Quotes About Freedom

You lift your head, you're on your way, but really just to be walking, to be out of doors. That's it, that's all, and you're there. Outdoors is our element: the exact sensation of living there.

When walking in this mode we discover the immense vigour of starry night skies, elemental energies, and our appetites follow: they are enormous, and our bodies are satisfied. When you have slammed the world's door, there is nothing left to hold you: pavements no longer guide your steps (the path, a hundred thousand times repeated, of the return to the fold). Crossroads shimmer like hesitant stars, you rediscover the tremulous fear of choosing, a vertiginous freedom.

My desire to curtail undue freedom of speech extends only to such public areas as restaurants, airports, streets, hotel lobbies, parks, and department stores. Verbal exchanges between consenting adults in private are as of little interest to me as they probably are to them.

I want a horse! I do! Of course. I'd ride it all day, Up, up, and away!

Me había convertido en un maestro en el arte de destruir todo sentimiento en ese minuto exacto en que la voluntad desempeña un papel decisivo en el amor, cuando, al borde de la pasión, nos hallamos aún en libertad de abandonarla o lanzarnos a ella.

Laissez faire, laissez passer.

Do what thou wilt.

Bonheur: faire ce que l'on veut et vouloir ce que l'on fait

Make me a grave where'er you will, In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill; Make it among earth's humblest graves, But not in a land where men are slaves. […] I ask no monument, proud and high, To arrest the gaze of the passers-by; All that my yearning spirit craves, Is bury me not in a land of slaves.

I am anything I wish to be. The world cannot choose for me. No, it is for me to choose what the world shall be.

I'm glad we're free, even if we do stupid things with the freedom sometimes. Maybe sometimes there isn't a right thing to do. Maybe there's just lots of wrong answers, and you have to pick one you can bear – something that doesn't break who you are.

In an instant he saw the delusion of his five hundred years. He was not looking into a box; he was looking out of one. All these centuries his mind, his body, his world had been a box of horrors. He took one last breath, then pushed open the lid of his prison and escaped.

If you want someone to tell you what to think," the phantom answered briskly, without looking up, "you will never be short of people willing to do so.

I don't care about my face! I'm tired of being stupid, and everybody keeping me stupid just for the sake of my face. Even if it means I have to run off and live in the wild caves with a bag over my head, I still want to know what's going on. I need to know.

Maybe you couldn't ever owe somebody your life, not really. You couldn't let anyone else decide what you did with it. You had to live it yourself, as truly as you could.

Once again Toll-by-Night had burst out of its captivity, like a monstrous jack from an innocent-looking box. And this time Mosca was a part of it.

I'm going to get out. Her spirits lurched unsteadily into the air like a wounded pigeon. I'm going to get out of this wormpit of a town. And I will never, never come back here again.

Just between you and me,' Mosca whispered, 'radicalism is all about walkin' on the grass.

Who am I? The shell-selling Lace girl, the attendant of Lady Arilou, Mother Govrie's other daughter, the thing of dust, the victim, the revenger, the diplomat, the crowd-witch, the killer, the rescuer, the pirate? I am anything I wish to be. The world cannot choose for me. No, it is for me to choose what the world shall be.

Her moment came. Nobody was looking. She sidled quickly across the deck and lost herself among the crates that clustered at the base of the boat's shuddering, discoloured funnel. The air tasted of salt and guilt, and she felt alive.

Before her escort could react, she sprinted out from their little pool of lantern-light into the darkness, her feet pounding the soft, treacherous clods of the field. The guards called after her for a while, but did not pursue, In a lost city, how could they chase down every lost soul who became a little more lost?

It was such a simple thing, but it made Bear feel less trapped. This was his cool, green territory, a domain of damp scents and mysteries. Every time, Makepeace felt her eyes sharpen , until she could see in the dim light as clearly as full day. Today she dug the turf with her fingers, rubbed against a tree and snuffed at the dandelion clocks, breaking them with her nose. She was a little too slow to stop Bear licking a fat beetle off her wrist and eating it.

Why? Nobody cared. With a new and wild intoxication, bolts were yanked from their frames, locks burst, walls cloven. No terrible Locksmith vengeance ensued. The townspeople plunged on with the glee a very young child feels the first time she realizes that her parents are not all-seeing and that plates break very easily.

Humans living and dead might suddenly turn on you, but wild things just lived on in their brute, wild way, caring nothing for you. When they died, they left no ghosts.