Quotes About Freedom

Eroarea lui André Breton este,poate,de a se fi luat prea în serios.Trebuie s? te iei doar puÈ›in în serios,altminteri totul e inconsistent.Dar dac? te iei prea în serios,nu mai exist? libertate,e gata puÈ™c?ria,strangularea.Nu mai ai cu adev?rat libertate de miÈ™care.Nu te mai miÈ™ti,eÈ™ti prins,eÈ™ti una cu lucrurile,nu mai ai distanÈ›a necesar? de a vedea clar.Trebuie s? fii numai pe jum?tate serios.

Når det kommer til stykket, er jeg ikke sikker på om De har moralsk rett til å blande dem i saken. Dessuten tror jeg fremdeles ikke det er noen fare på ferde. Etter min mening er det absurd å gå fra konseptene fordi om noen mennesker har fått lyst til å skifte ham. Det får bli deres egen sak. Det står enhver fritt for.

Si no se comprende la utilidad de lo inútil, la inutilidad de lo útil, no se comprende el arte. Y un país en donde no se comprende el arte es un país de esclavos o de robots, un país de gente desdichada, de gente que no ríe ni sonríe, un país sin espíritu; donde no hay humorismo, donde no hay risa, hay cólera y odio.

Un país en donde no se comprende el arte es un país de esclavos o de robots, un país de gente desdichada, de gente que no ríe ni sonríe, un país sin espíritu; donde no hay humorismo, donde no hay risa, hay cólera y odio.

Sînt deja închis. Cum sînt toti. Închis si totodata prea liber.

AMÉDÉE: Slavery has been abolished, my love . . . MADELEINE: I'm not your love . . . AMÉDÉE: Slaves belong to the past . . . MADELEINE: Well, I'm a modern slave, then!

Where am I? What the hell difference is it? There's plenty o' fresh air and the moon fur a glim. Don't be so damn pertic'lar!

LAVINIA: He made me feel for the first time in my life that everything about love could be sweet and natural... I have a right to love!

I'm thinking 'tis only slaves do be giving heed to the day that's gone or the day to come.

idea that you cannot control what happens to you, but you can control how you feel about it. Or, as Jean-Paul Sartre put it, "Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

But for now I prefer to think that I will go somewhere that is not so overimagined.

I'd left them because I'd loved them. Beth and my parents and my friends and my life-my free, American life. I loved them, and if I had a chance to protect them from the people who wanted to destroy them then I had to take that chance even if it meant I would never see them again.

It is the paradox of virtue knit into the fabric of reality: you will not be free unless you are virtuous; you cannot be virtuous unless you are free.

To escape from the little island of the living.

We all want the same thing, I guess. Killers or no, good or bad. We all want to be free. We all want to go home.

I)t's not a question whether your country is perfect or imperfect; it's a question of whether it's free or not free.

killer were right behind us. Now we were outside,

A driver is a king on a vinyl bucket-seat throne, changing direction with the turn of a wheel, changing the climate with a flick of the button, changing the music with the switch of a dial.

Casting the body's vest aside,My soul into the boughs does glide.

Had we but world enough, and time,This coyness, lady, were no crime.

O, who shall from this dungeon raise A soul enslaved so many ways? With bolts of bones, that fettered stands In feet; and manacled in hands. Here blinded with an eye: and there Deaf with the drumming of an ear; A soul hung up, as 'twere, in chains Of nerves, and arteries, and veins; Tortured, besides each other part, In a vain head and double heart?

Damian..." "Yes?" "Where are you?" "Wherever you want me to be." "I'll leave the door unlocked.

Want to give up saving the world and come play with me?" There is something utterly fearless about her that I admire. While I've been fretting about how to put my skills to better use for humanity and almost dying or getting imprisoned in the process, here's a free spirit who's decided to let the world figure its own shit out while she has a blast making a fortune's worth of fuck-you money.

At long last I can make a cosy nest of my own,' she told friends, filled with enthusiasm at the idea of furnishing and decorating her own place; indeed, the desire to make the place 'cosy' became her constant refrain. For the first time she would be able to express herself without having to look over her shoulder or be reminded of sad events.