Best 249 of Wild quotes - MyQuotes
My atoms love you atoms, it’s chemistry.
Through the window, I saw the beautiful world outside: the sky, the sun, the cacti, the rocks, and the dirt. How I longed to return to it! I licked at the air, trying to smell the desert's delicious dusty scent, but could not. How was I able to see it without smelling it? Did humans control scents as well as the temperature and the waters? Is that what windows were for, to keep out scents? Why did they wish to put invisible barriers between themselves and the world?
When the tidal waves wildly behaving My bare feet on the shore busy saving The calm warmth leaking out of the sand To let my heart feel peacefully tanned!
I'm not a girl that will lay in diamonds but I will run through the flowers of the seeds we plant together.
If Springtime crawls out of the wild mouths of flowers, then surely, Winter crawls out of mine.
Be an individual, let out the self that hides away at the expense of others approval.
I've never been a woman who will settle to fit in, i'd always have rathered find a little world all on my own. If people come they come and if they go they go, but for me staying authentic to my souls purpose is all i'll ever know.
May my soul forever stay wild and my spirit always be adventurous.
She was the kind of elegance That would never tarnish. A mixture of lace and mesh, Like a classic heirloom that begged to be worn. She was sharp intellect and quick wit. The type of woman that spoke her mind, Even if it shook. (Or even if no one was listening.) She was beautiful. But not someone you’d see in magazines, Her hips were too wide, her hair a mess of wispy tendrils, (Rather, she was actually very ordinary.) My, was she stubborn! She’d drive you mad! (Sometimes, you’d probably call her crazy.) But mostly, her laughter was a joyful moments. Like a warm towel fresh from the dryer, Or finding a twenty-dollar bill in your winter coat. And that was the true revelation. That magic does exist, It ran through her like a wild, fiery current.
Brushing a girl’s hair behind her ear once a day will solve more problems than all those therapists and drugs.
It was April in Minneapolis and snowing, the flakes coming down in thick swirls enchanting the city
THE HARDEST STEP WE ALL MUST TAKE IS TO BLINDLY TRUST IN WHO WE ARE. - ATTICUS
Lailah Gifty Akita
Only wild animals harm each other.
Her love was as wild as the flames that made her. She was not the one to be tamed but loved from far.
C. Joybell C
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’s like I always have my luggage with me and I can unpack or repack on short notice. I guess that’s something you can call a traveler’s heart. You are ready to stay with every atom in your body; but you are also ready to leave that way. You’re not afraid of forever but you’re also not afraid of nothing at all.
This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. For as there are billions of different stars that make up the sky so, too, are there billions of different humans that make up the Earth. Some shine brighter but all are made of the same cosmic dust. O the joy of being in life with all these people! I speak of differences because they are there. Like the different organs that make up our bodies. Earth, itself, is one large body. Listen to how it howls when one human is in misery. When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in its chest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette. Look carefully, these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth’s face lovelier and more loveable. These oceans are the Earth’s limpid eyes. These trees, its hair. This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. I will no longer speak of differences, for the similarities are larger. Look even closer. There may be distances between our limbs but there are no spaces between our hearts. We long to be one. We long to be in nature and to run wild with its wildlife. Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful. Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegious to be serious. Let us celebrate imperfections and make existence proud of us, for tomorrow is death, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.
I am a wildflower in your perfect bed of roses.
Her armor appears fragile – a delicate shell of silk and perfume. Life's troubles seem to find each chink. But try to touch that smooth shield and you will see it crumble in your hands. As the dust dissipates, you find she is gone.
She reminded me of the sea; the way she came dancing towards you, wild and beautiful, and just when she was almost close enough to touch she'd rush away again.
True art comes from flying with the madness so close you burn your eyelashes.
Without the pain there would not be art, the patterns are the pieces of me i've lost and gained along the way.
How dirty she was, how thin, what a wild look she had! I have never seen a wilder-looking creature. Her eyes were bright. They were like the eyes of a wild animal.
First, the wind would rumble in the distance like an approaching river, then he would see grass bend, pressed by a great invisible hand. The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation, causing stalks to lie flat against the ground while the tougher branches of shrubs held themselves up and shrieked their defiance in the gusts. Then the first drops, cold and heavy, would plummet from the sky and burst on the ground.
Kristin Michelle Elizabeth
She’d rather be a blazing wildfire than a dimming candle; always igniting the fire within her soul that could never be put out.
The need for wildness is written within our genes, in a language we are just beginning to understand. And in wilderness we will find the Rosetta Stone that can unravel this ancient language of our bones.
Don't ask her to be a rock for you to lean upon instead, build her wings and point her to the sky and she will teach you both to fly.
Taken together, the narratives of how the animals ended up at Lowry Park revealed as much about Homo sapiens as they revealed about the animals themselves. The precise details—how and where each was born, how they were separated from their mothers and taken into custody, all they had witnessed and experienced on their way to becoming the property of this particular zoo—could have filled an encyclopedia with insights into human behavior and psychology, human geopolitics and history and commerce. Lowry Park’s very existence declared our presumption of supremacy, the ancient belief that we have been granted dominion over other creatures and have the right to do with them as we please. The zoo was a living catalogue of our fears and obsessions, the ways we see animals and see ourselves, all the things we prefer not to see at all. Every corner of the grounds revealed our appetite for amusement and diversion, no matter what the cost. Our longing for the wildness we have lost inside ourselves. Our instinct to both exalt nature and control it. Our deepest wish to love and protect other species even as we scorch their forests and poison their rivers and shove them toward oblivion. All of it was on display in the garden of captives.
And my wildly troubled love for you, which labored gently in the garden all through June, then tore the flowers up with its fists in July.
And it was in that moment of distress and confusion that the whip of terror laid its most nicely calculated lash about his heart. It dropped with deadly effect upon the sorest spot of all, completely unnerving him. He had been secretly dreading all the time that it would come - and come it did. Far overhead, muted by great height and distance, strangely thinned and wailing, he heard the crying voice of Defago, the guide. The sound dropped upon him out of that still, wintry sky with an effect of dismay and terror unsurpassed. The rifle fell to his feet. He stood motionless an instant, listening as it were with his whole body, then staggered back against the nearest tree for support, disorganized hopelessly in mind and spirit. To him, in that moment, it seemed the most shattering and dislocating experience he had ever known, so that his heart emptied itself of all feeling whatsoever as by a sudden draught. 'Oh! oh! This fiery height! Oh, my feet of fire! My burning feet of fire...' ran in far, beseeching accents of indescribable appeal this voice of anguish down the sky. Once it called - then silence through all the listening wilderness of trees. And Simpson, scarcely knowing what he did, presently found himself running wildly to and fro, searching, calling, tripping over roots and boulders, and flinging himself in a frenzy of undirected pursuit after the Caller. Behind the screen of memory and emotion with which experience veils events, he plunged, distracted and half-deranged, picking up false lights like a ship at sea, terror in his eyes and heart and soul. For the Panic of the Wilderness had called to him in that far voice - the Power of untamed Distance - the Enticement of the Desolation that destroys. He knew in that moment all the pains of someone hopelessly and irretrievably lost, suffering the lust and travail of a soul in the final Loneliness. A vision of Defago, eternally hunted, driven and pursued across the skyey vastness of those ancient forests fled like a flame across the dark ruin of his thoughts... It seemed ages before he could find anything in the chaos of his disorganized sensations to which he could anchor himself steady for a moment, and think... The cry was not repeated; his own hoarse calling brought no response; the inscrutable forces of the Wild had summoned their victim beyond recall - and held him fast. ("The Wendigo")
There will be times of noise and there will be times of silence, both are necessary to hear your soul.
Half of me is filled with bursting words and half of me is painfully shy. I crave solitude yet also crave people. I want to pour life and love into everything yet also nurture my self-care and go gently. I want to live within the rush of primal, intuitive decision, yet also wish to sit and contemplate. This is the messiness of life - that we all carry multitudes, so must sit with the shifts. We are complicated creatures, and ultimately, the balance comes from this understanding. Be water. Flowing, flexible and soft. Subtly powerful and open. Wild and serene. Able to accept all changes, yet still led by the pull of steady tides. It is enough.
Even a wolf knows how to be polite when animalistic humans have no clue about politeness
Marcus Du Sautoy
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.
Find a part of yourself hidden in the twilight.
Wolf Speaks: I wander mountains high and river pathways I seek cover in deep forests from hunters’ cruel knives Yet my cousins warm your hearts with love and loyalty Love me also even though you do not command my freedom path
As dreams are the healing songs from the wilderness of our unconscious - So wild animals, wild plants, wild landscapes are the healing dreams from the deep singing mind of the earth.
- Qu'y-a-t-il au sommet de la montagne ? - Le ciel. - Que dit le loup quand il hurle ? - Joie, force et solitude. - A qui s'adresse-t-il ? - A la lune. - Où va la rivière ? - Remplir la mer. - A qui la nuit fait-elle peur ? - A ceux qui attendent le jour pour voir. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Vent. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Les deux. - Que devient une lame qui se brise ? - Une poussière d'étoile. - Que fais-tu devant une rivière que tu ne peux pas traverser ? - Je le traverse. - Que devient une étoile qui meurt ? - Un rêve qui vit. - Offre moi un mot. - Silence. - Un autre. - Harmonie. - Un dernier. - Fluidité. - L'ours et le chien se disputent un territoire, qui a raison ? - Le chat qui les observe. - Marie tes trois mots. - Marchombre.
The yearn of the faithful The call of the wild Two conflicting worlds collide Steadfast in a world spiraling out of control. One foot to the earth One head in the clouds
You are likely to lose the heat of your passion irrespective of how hot it was when you surrender yourself to a leader with lukewarm attitude.
Her love is rare but she'll keep you wild.
Make good choices in order to manifest your true identity; manifest your true being. What others see in you now is just a mild photo of you. The wild copy is yet to come. Print that image; make it bigger!
Shannon M Mullen
The forest is blanketed by the greenest ferns and moss and bonsai-like trees, a wild majesty that beckons hobbits and pixies and elves and dreamers.
If you have to ask that question, you wouldn't understand the answer.
Wild waves rise and fall when they arrive And that’s what makes the calm sea alive
Art takes time— Monet grew his gardens before he painted them.
At the core of the wild is the idea that we must seek, stalk, kill, and haul our prey home to feed our young. It was a right of passage for young men for generations – to get that first kill. To take the life of an animal, and to learn that our life depends on the life of another. I understand that there are some that don’t eat meat -but don’t think for a minute that you aren’t still killing SOMETHING when you pluck that carrot out of its dirty ground! Our cultured and shiny environment now doesn’t require people to get their hands dirty. If you go to the store to buy meat, you buy meat. You don’t see the beating heart, the twitching nerves, or the cold stare left behind by the animal that gave its flesh for you
I see you, flawed and humble and road weary and proud and still in spite of the deep ache, somehow sure you’ve done all you can. I see all you feel but cannot speak. I see the way the words grow and swell, expanding your chest and pressing against the confines in your throat until they form the most unbearable pain, and the air around you so heavy with the weight of words unsaid. I see the way your chest caves in and your shoulders curl around and your arms hold your knees so tight that you circle in upon yourself. I see how in spite of this you are expanding, even though others wish you small and in spite of your own efforts to keep peace. I see that you are a wild thing, not meant for containment.
She's not stumbling, she's not lost. She's simply romancing her inner animal and falling in love with the wild part of her soul.
The world had to change and for some reason the prosperity of men always results in them taking ever more from wild creatures and places.
Wild animals are less wild and more human than many humans of this world