Quotes on Wall

What a joy it is to feel the soft, springy earth under my feet once more, to follow grassy roads that lead to ferny brooks where I can bathe my fingers in a cataract of rippling notes, or to clamber over a stone wall into green fields that tumble and roll and climb in riotous gladness!

When I became convinced that the universe is natural, that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell. The dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts and bars and manacles became dust.

Flower in the crannied wall,_x000D_ _x000D_ I pluck you out of the crannies,_x000D_ _x000D_ I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,_x000D_ _x000D_ Little flower-but if I could understand_x000D_ _x000D_ What you are, root and all, all in all,_x000D_ _x000D_ I should know what God and man is.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall, and wants it down.

Dreams don't work unless you do

One man pins me to the wall, while with another I walk among the stars

Seek patience and passion in equal amounts. Patience alone will not build the temple. Passion alone will destroy its walls.

Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,_x000D_ _x000D_ Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,_x000D_ _x000D_ Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;_x000D_ _x000D_ But life, being weary of these worldly bars,_x000D_ _x000D_ Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

Your way begins at the other side._x000D_ _x000D_ Become the sky._x000D_ _x000D_ Take an axe to the prison wall._x000D_ _x000D_ Escape._x000D_ _x000D_ Walk out like someone suddenly born into color._x000D_ _x000D_ Do it now.

Why struggle to open a door between us when the whole wall is an illusion?

I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.

We amuse ourselves painting our prison-walls with bright figures and brilliant landscapes.

A person's looking for a simple truth to live by, there it is. CHOICE. To refuse to passively accept what we've been handed by nature or society, but to choose for ourselves. CHOICE. That's the difference between emptiness and substance, between a life actually lived and a wimpy shadow cast on an office wall.

I think there ought to be a strict separation or wall built between our religious faith and our practice of political authority in office. I don't think the President of the United States should extoll Christianity if he happens to be a Christian at the expense of Judaism, Islam or other faiths.

Some people you just had to embrace, in some way or another, had to bite into the muscle, to remain sane in their company. You needed to grab their hair and clutch it like a drowner so they would pull you into their midst. Otherwise they, walking casually down the street towards you, almost about to wave, would leap over a wall and be gone for months.

For years and years, I convinced myself that I was unbreakable, an animal with an animal strength or something not human at all. Me, I told people, I take damage like a wall, a brick wall that never falls down, never feels anything, never flinches or remembers. I am one woman but I carry in my body all the stories I have ever been told, women I have known, women who have taken damage until they tell themselves they can feel no pain at all.

Imagine that the world is made out of love. Now imagine that it isn’t. Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.

A stranger to myself and to the world, armed solely with a thought that negates itself as soon as it asserts, what is this condition in which I can have peace only by refusing to know and to live, in which the appetite for conquest bumps into walls that defy its assaults?

Nobody’s going to save you. No one’s going to cut you down, cut the thorns thick around you. No one’s going to storm the castle walls nor kiss awake your birth, climb down your hair, nor mount you onto the white steed. There is no one who will feed the yearning. Face it. You will have to do, do it yourself.

I wondered if sometimes the difference between a psychopath in Broadmoor and a psychopath on Wall Street was the luck of being born into a stable, rich family.

I wondered if I would appear on a temple wall painting someday. A blonde Egyptian girl with purple highlights running sideways through the palm trees, screaming "Yikes!" in hieroglyphics as Neith chased after me. The thought of some poor archaeologist trying to figure that out almost lifted my spirits.