Quotes About Wild

Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí, a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan.

a person can't tame God. He's wild as a lion. He'll haunt you.

She honored the margins; the wild side made all the difference.

They rode horses as white as hoarfrost. Snow and star and dark whipped around one another to etch a fine-boned face, eyes of night and crystal fire. Their mantles were of dark wind and snow; their wild hair caught snow and falling stars. The boy watched them, too, longing for their beauty, their mastery over cold and storm. Come to us. This is not your true home. You belong elsewhere. You belong with us.

I now understand the need for faith—pure, blind, fly-in-the-face-of-reason faith—as a small life preserver in the wild and endless sea of a universe ruled by unfeeling laws and totally indifferent to the small, reasoning beings that inhabit it.

I now understand the need for faith – pure, blind, fly-in-the-face-of-reason faith – as a small life preserver in the wild and endless sea of a universe ruled by unfeeling laws and totally indifferent to the small, reasoning beings that inhabit it. Day

But from these three cats I afterwards came to be so pestered with cats that I was forced to kill them like vermin or wild beasts, and to drive them from my house as much as possible.

A Persian fairy tale tells of the Three Princes of Serendip, who "were always making discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of."7 Creativity in the wild operates much like that.

I'm like an animal who's been locked out of his nice, safe cage.

We had been taken from The Wild and brought together in one place, because, for some strange reason, people found us interesting.

THE ARRIVAL Like a tide it comes in, wave after wave of foliage and fruit, the nurtured and the wild, out of the light to this shore. In its extravagance we shape the strenuous outline of enough.

I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair But mocks the steady running of the hour And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here

The clouds were wild in the western heaven, and the wind blew chill from the sea. Far as the shore was, the sound of the surf swept over the intervening moorland, and beat drearily in my ears when I entered the churchyard.

My Spectre around me night & day Like a Wild beast guards my way My Emanation far within Weeps incessantly for my Sin

while the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, Viewed the maid asleep

And that is why people read novels, to identify projections of their own unconscious. The hero has to be fearfully real, to convince them of their own reality, which they rather doubt. A novel without a hero would be distracting in the extreme. They have to know what you think, or good heavens, how can they know that you're going through some wild conflict, which is after all the duty of a hero.

Bu, bir vahÅŸiydi. Ve bu vahÅŸinin kiÅŸiliÄŸi, eskiden k?sa pantolon ve gömlek giyen çocuÄŸun kiÅŸiliÄŸiyle özdeÅŸleÅŸemiyordu.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see that enormous pit, surrounded, as it is, on all sides by wild trees and bushes. And the noise of the water rises upwards, and blends—in my sleep—with other and lower noises; while, over all, hangs the eternal shroud of spray.

If this life be not a real fight, in which something is eternally gained for the universe by success, it is no better than a game of private theatricals from which one may withdraw at will. But it feels like a real fight – as if there were something really wild in the universe which we, with all our idealities and faithfulnesses, are needed to redeem.

I have mixed feelings about zoos. Some days, it makes me sad to see animals in confined habitats, under constant observation by an alien species. Other days, I see the amount of care and love provided by the zookeepers; I remember how dangerous the wild is, particularly for endangered animals. I tear up a little when I see a kid staring at some weird creature from another continent – I know that kid is going to learn everything about that animal, and love it, and fight for its survival.

And night, free at last, stirred, stretching, feral.

Miss Prendregast!" He rapped on his desk with his knuckles. "You were never in any danger!" "Except from the wild animals." His lids swept down as if he needed a reprieve from looking at her. "Alert me if you're attacked by a rabbit.

Men are bad cyclists, hunters of wild animals, kamikazes, samurai and Christian martyrs.

Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts, and beasts so terrible that the ancient animal symbols of Saint John will seem like cooing doves and cupids in comparison.