escape

This was the time in her life that she fell upon books as the only door out of her cell. They became half her world.

Even prisoners can escape if they have books.

Betsy returned to her chair, took off her coat and hat, opened her book and forgot the world again.

I think that pretty much every form of fiction (I__ include fantasy, obviously) can actually be a real escape from places where you feel bad, and from bad places. It can be a safe place you go, like going on holiday, and it can be somewhere that, while you__e escaped, actually teaches you things you need to know when you go back, that gives you knowledge and armour and tools to change the bad place you were in.So no, they__e not escapist. They__e escape.

He was a very private person, and sometimes it seemed to me that he was no longer interested in the world or in other people... I got the feeling that Julián was living in the past, locked in his memories. Julián lived within himself, for his books and inside them - a comfortable prison of his own design.""You say this as if you envied him.""There are worse prisons than words.

Mother used to say escape is never further than the nearest book.

Reading is my passion and my escape since I was 5 years old. Overall, children don't realize the magic that can live inside their own heads. Better even then any movie.

I spent the rest of the day in someone else's story. The rare moments that I put the book down, my own pain returned in burning stabs.

I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.

Nurture a desire to be free from the clock.

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.

Books don't offer real escape, but they can stop a mind scratching itself raw.

Someday you shall meet someoneWho's gonna look at you in awe-Flying high, wings all spread,And wonder how it'd be likeTo clip those wings,Tie those feet down,And cage you forever...When you hit the ground,Remember to run

She'd started swimming early in the morning, when the kids were asleep, when she thought he was asleep. She didn't know her absence woke him, that the shift in the bed was an earthquake. When she climbed back in, she smelled like salt and seaweed. Sometimes her hair would still be knotted on top of her head. She tried to keep it dry. She didn't want him to know. The problem with marrying the mermaid girl from the carnival was knowing that one day she'd swim away.

He was fucking sad. That's it. That's the point. He knows life is never going to get any different for him. That there's no fixing him. It's always going to be the same monotonous depressing bullshit. Boring, sad, boring, sad. He just wants it to be over.

I wanted to walk faster, to run, far as possible from her, from my entire life, from the first day I ever saw her always just a few steps ahead.

We__e lost in each other, in the heart of Toronto, slow dancing to nothing but the beat of my heart and the sound of her breath on my neck. I know the subway trains are trembling beneath my feet and that we__e amidst the constant buzz of city life, yet I hear nothing but my heart beating and feel nothing but her breath on my neck.

Delusions are hardly an escape from reality. It__ a way of understanding insane people living in a backwards world.