wild

Most of us spend the first six days of each week sowing wild oats then we go to church on Sunday and pray for a crop failure.

Being tame is what we're taught: ... put the crayons back, stay in line, don't talk too loud, keep your knees together, nice girls don't...As you might know, nice girls DO, and they like to feel wild and alive. Being tame feels safe, being wild, unsafe. Yet safety is an illusion anyway. We are not in control. No matter how dry and tame and nice we live, we will die. And we will suffer along the way. Living wild is its own reward.

A bus drives past and I__ nauseated by a whiff of exhaust. Then rotting fish. The rancid stench of sewage. Is it garbage day? I__ trapped in the pungent fog, in the dreary suburban-style shops, the rat race of city life. The city, even on the west coast, has the power to beat us down, to suck us of passion, to crush our dreams.

There was a wildness inside him; someday he would capture it. Not to be tamed, but to be released. For only by understanding his mind could it be freed.

Every falling leaf reminds me that I too will soon be separated from these trees. Trying to capture freedom is like trying to catch a falling leaf. Occasionally you may grab one out of the air and hold it in your hands, but now what?

Monsters cannot be announced. One cannot say: 'Here are our monsters,' without immediately turning the monsters into pets.

For any scientist the real challenge is not to stay within the secure garden of the known but to venture out into the wilds of the unknown.

Weetzie could not even cry and make Kleenex roses. She remembered the day her father, Charlie, had driven away in the smashed yellow T-bird, leaving her mother Brandy-Lynn clutching her flowered robe with one hand and an empty glass in the other, and leaving Weetzie holding her arms crossed over her chest that was taking its time to develope into anything

You make my heart shake bend and break

Wildflowers don't grow haphazardly us we are led to believe. They grow in fantastic patterns which are different to each of us you see.

I was born into chaos. I didn__ know what peace felt like.

If Springtime crawls out of thewild mouths of flowers, thensurely, Winter crawls out of mine.

One of my own stray childhood fears had been to wonder what a whale might feel like had it been born and bred in captivity, then released into the wild-into its ancestral sea-its limited world instantly blowing up when cast into the unknowable depths, seeing strange fish and tasting new waters, not even having a concept of depth, not knowing the language of any whale pods it might meet. It was my fear of a world that would expand suddenly, violently, and without rules or laws: bubbles and seaweed and storms and frightening volumes of dark blue that never end

Wild waves rise and fall when they arrive And that__ what makes the calm sea alive

Just then, down through the last glimmer of twilight, stepping high and free, like a cloud, a moth, a ghost in the shape of a horse _ came the Silver Stallion. Wild, beautiful, and free as the wind he came, from one kingdom to another, Thowra

I came to see myself one day and it was like looking into a mirror. I came to see that at any given moment, I am both equally ready to stay and to leave. It__ like I always have my luggage with me and I can unpack or repack on short notice. I guess that__ something you can call a traveler__ heart. You are ready to stay with every atom in your body; but you are also ready to leave that way. You__e not afraid of forever but you__e also not afraid of nothing at all.

I am more than what they say I am.

Why are you so determined to keep your wild silently inside you? Let it breathe. Give it a voice. Let it roll out of you on the wide open waves. Set it free