Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Fledgeling. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Fledgeling Quotes And Sayings by 97 Authors including Ovid,Rumi,Horace,William Shakespeare,Israel Horovitz for you to enjoy and share.
I flee who chases me and chase who flees me.
The sweetness and delights of the resting-place are in proportion to the pain endured on the Journey. Only when you suffer the pangs and tribulations of exile will you truly enjoy your homecoming.
An undertaking beset with danger.
So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
There is no crime greater, or more worthy of punishment, than being strange and frightened among the strange and frightened; except assimilation to the end of becoming strange and frightened, but apart from ones own real self.
Are you running away from something?
one's innate desire for escape.' Everyone needs to escape, don't they? In one way or another, I mean.
Where can one think of fleeing, if the cell is everything? And
Hiding and waiting
For the worst
Or the end
There is in most passions a shrinking away from ourselves. The passionate pursuer has all the earmarks of a fugitive.
Of the gladdest moments in human life, methinks, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of Habit, the leaden weight of Routine, the cloak of many Cares and the slavery of Civilization, man feels once more happy.
A golden past
That flees so fast,
A becoming in which one never becomes, a becoming whose rule is neither evolution nor asymptote but a certain turning, a certain turning inward, turning into my own / turning on in / to my own self / at last / turning out of the / white cage, turning out of the / lady cage / turning at last.
Where was my heart to flee for refuge from my heart? Whither was I to fly, where I would not follow? In what place should I not be prey to myself?
We are pursued (persecuted and hard driven), but not deserted [to stand alone]; we are struck down to the ground, but never struck out and destroyed;
How many we know who have fled the sweetness of a tranquil life in their homes, among the friends, to seek the horror of uninhabitable deserts; who have flung themselves into humiliation, degradation, and the contempt of the world, and have enjoyed these and even sought them out.
Pursuit of passion,
Wanderlust is not unheard of in our kind; it comes upon us now and then. When you can live forever, staying in one place can come to seem a dull prison after many, many years.
Dying of love for what does not love them.
There could be no romance in the terrible possibility that Gretel Nissenbaum had fled on foot, alone, not to her family but simply to escape from her life; in what exigency of need, what despondency of spirit, no name might be given it by any who have not experienced it.
The people in flight from the terror behind-strange things happen to them, some bitterly cruel and some so beautiful that the faith is refired forever.
What everybody's looking for today, they're looking for escape-ism.
What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life
the demon Thought.
Seeking God - and finding itself.
striving for fabulousness.
The winds of wrath came driving him, and blindly in the foam he fled from west to east, and errandless, unheralded he homeward sped.
Welcome the life that takes you off course. A plan derailed, a life surrendered, a broken bondage
We need the tonic of the wilderness, to wade sometimes in the marsh where the bitten and the meadow hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds her nest, and the mink crawls with its belly close to the ground.
Repooping is the purest form of pooping
racing for his freedom along the battlements and rooftops of St Pol.
Pursuing employment or climatic relief, we live in voluntary exile from our extended families and our longer past, but in an involuntary exile from ourselves and our own past.
wandered. Such has been my common
I that in heill wes and gladnes Am trublit now with gret seiknes And feblit with infermite: Timor Mortis conturbat me.* * Fear of Death troubles me.
Still everyone, including the abbot, had said that he was running away from his grief. They'd had no idea what they were talking about. He'd cradled his grief, almost to the point of loving it. For so long he refused to give it up, because leaving it behind was like leaving her.
Fleeing into aphorisms, the last refuge of an adult under siege.
Not even for an hour can you bear to be alone, nor can you advantageously apply your leisure time, but you endeavor, a fugitive and wanderer, to escape from yourself, now vainly seeking to banish remorse by wine, and now by sleep; but the gloomy companion presses on you, and pursues you as you fly.
Now, having left cities behind me, turned
Away forever from the strange, gregarious
Huddling of men by stones, I find those various
Great towns I knew fused into one, burned
Together in the fire of my despising ...
Escape
from the power of the hunting pack,
and to know that wisdom is best
and beauty
sheer holiness.
The old wanderlust had gotten into his blood, the joy of the unbound life, the joy of seeking, of hoping without limit.
From beginning to end this is a wet and blood smeared voyage, this begetting and birthing and moving away.
An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,Oh give me my lowly thatched cottage again;The birds singing gayly, that came at my call,Give me them, and that peace of mind dearer than all.
Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
Everyone's running from something.
Daring faith, daring life.
...savoring the sense of loneliness and freedom that comes only from solitary sojourns in strange lands...
I am running away but I prefer to call it a strategic retreat.
Having traveled initially to get away, ultimately we travel to come home.
An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.
At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things, toddling, stacher thro'
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.
When you leave the familiar and enter the unknown, your fear becomes refined by experience and hammered into tools of survival on the anvil of anxiety.
Hiding from genocide inside a Jew's attic, thought Kugel, is like hiding from a lion inside a gazelle.
When he was younger, he used the slightest opportunity to slip away from people, without his being able to understand very clearly why he did so: a longing to break free and to breathe in the fresh air?
Home was where others had to gather grace. Home was what I wanted to flee.
Reckless abandon and know that there will be someone
For always roaming with a hungry heart.
The romance of solitude and small places, the blurring of identity.
Travelling in one direction. Yearning to be going the other way. She has lived here. She will survive there.
You're such a fugitive, but you don't know what you're running from.
What exile from his country is able to escape from himself?
Running away is vastly underrated.
Many of the gunters on the front lines took an involuntary step backward. A few others turned and ran for their lives.
gratuitous masturbation
of the
psyche.
The rage was a good feeling, stronger and purer than the shame that followed, the fear and the sudden urge to run and hide, to deny, to pretend I did not know who I was and what the world would do to me.
On Sundays, at the matin-chime, The Alpine peasants, two and three, Climb up here to pray; Burghers and dames, at summer's prime, Ride out to church from Chamberry, Dight with mantles gay, But else it is a lonely time Round the Church of Brou.
[W]alking sometimes in a perfectly desolate plain where there have been no houses nor trees to guide me, I have been occasionally compelled to remain stationary for hours together, waiting till the rain came before continuing my journey.
Wander at will,
Day after day,
Wander away,
Wandering still
Soul that canst soar!
Body may slumber:
Body shall cumber
Soul-flight no more.
howling alternately
A stunning meditation on the power of escape, and on the cat-and-mouse contest the self plays to deflect its own guilt.
To flee from sin is to retain heaven on earth
Greger gave us a faraway look.
'Now you'rrre getting somewhere, lads! This is Holgerrri.'
I turned to Niila and muttered a gruesome premonition:
'By God, but he's going to get beaten up.
'What?' said Greger
'Oh, nothing.
Suddenly I'm as if cast out,
and this solitude surrounds me
as something vast and unbounded,
when my feeling, standing on the hills
of my breasts, cries out for wings
or for an end.
Those who escaped the noose settled here, at the very bottom, the absolute edge of peculiar society. Exiled from the outcasts of outcasts
Feral rearranging. Letting form ferment. Letting form pass through you.
Running away has been futile. Wherever I went life would be the same. Resisting my chains only seem to tighten them. Yet all around me women found ways to slip those bonds, to discreetly flout the rules and then return to their so-called captivity before anyone noticed.
Haste and escape for your lives, look not behind you, escape to the mountain, lest you be consumed.
Hide-and-seek, grown-up style. Wanting to hide. Needing to be sought. Confused about being found.
There are two ways to escape: escape without a purpose and escape with a purpose. I call the former 'floating', and the latter 'flight'.
Sleepwalking down the hall like a firefly in the fog.
For Wayfarers still journeying, for Wanderers at rest.
Wandering between two worlds, one lost, the other powerless to be born.
A fondness for roving, for making a name for themselves in their onw country, and for boasting of what they had seen in their travels, was so strong in our two wanderers, that they resolved to be no longer happy; and demanded permission of the king to leave the country.
The sense of fear and loss that accompanies the letting go of dreams that will never be is best described by the German word torschlusspanik, defined as "panic at the thought that a door between oneself and life's opportunities has shut.
Reichert offers us a Heracleitean stream of self-reflection into which we can step more than once, for
we can see ourselves empathically mirrored in it: his interiority is our own.
The wicked flee when none pursueth.
The act of vagabonding is not an isolated trend so much as it is a spectral connection between people long separated by place and time, but somehow speaking the same language.
To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.
Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs - To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind.
A man may be accused of cowardice for fleeing away from all manner of physical dangers but when things supernatural, insubstantial and inexplicable threaten not only his safety and well-being but his sanity, his innermost soul, then retreat is not a sign of weakness but the most prudent course.
In reviewing my life, in tracing its course, I fill my cell with the pleasure of being what for want of a trifle I failed to be, recapturing, so that I may hurl myself into them as into dark pits, those moments when I strayed through the trap-ridden compartments of a subterranean sky
Hurrying, dragging, falling, crying, calling out names hopefully and hopelessly.
Escape is the byword - forwards, backwards, or sideways - into alcohol, busyness, good works, passivity, fantasy, or even madness. For the reality of the present and the immediate future seem even more frightening today
Sometimes, when I tell folk my story, they ask why I did not run away from the pagans, why I did not escape southward into the lands where the Danes did not yet rule, but it never occurred to me to try. I was happy, I was alive, I was with Ragnar, and it was enough.
Here is a thing which the more you fear and avoid it the nearer you approach to it, and this is misery; the more you flee from it the more miserable and restless you will become.
Wer rastet, rostet - what rests, rusts.
I wandered in the streets, what with the noise the people made, the number of the coaches, the running of the footmen, the swaggering of great courtiers, and the thrusting aside of everybody, many a time I longed to be back among the sheep again, for fear of losing my peacefulness of spirit.
Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
What could be more entrancing than a carefree nomadic existence camping, moving, exploring strange places and the ruins of forgotten empires, sleeping under canvas or the open sky, and giving no thought to the conventions and restriction of the modern world?
Quitting-it was a dirty word in a place where pilgrims had endured harsh winters and where pioneers had struggled through death and disease to create new lives. Giving up or stepping back or setting aside something you thought you wanted- it was almost a shameful act.
Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.
Solitude: so fulfilling that the merest rendezvous is a crucifixion.