Best 86 quotes in «running away quotes» category

You don't have to run away from life your whole life. You can really live. You can change. And you can be an agent of change.

We are to learn about fear, not how to escape from it.

But I did it! That's the thing—I did it! What will my father say when he hears I murdered a man? Lorna, I see what I did. I murdered myself, too! I've been running around in circles. Now I'm smashed!

Anyway, what can one do here? I am seriously thinking of running away and joining the Foreign Legion or the North-West Mounted Police—whichever work the shorter hours.

Are we running away from home?” I asked, giving voice to the question that had been on my mind for two days, ever since the lady at the Wok On restaurant asked where we were from and my mother lied. My mother had laughed. I couldn’t see her face, but her laugh I could always conjure—rich, ringing, like bells calling you to a wedding. “No, silly goose. You can’t run away from home. It’s not home if you want to run away from it.” She paused to brush a strand of hair from my face. “You can only run away from a house. Home is something you run toward.

And I left him there, this saver of lives. I left him on his knees peering into the eyes of a stranger he’d rescued from oblivion.

And then I laugh, because it's so ridiculous and so gorgeous and it's all I can do to not melt into a fit of giggles. [...] If they're willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?

As one of the little streams starts snaking my way, inching closer to the toe of my shoe, I hop over the spreading puddle and out of its reach. I don’t look back to see if it’s going to follow me. I’m already three blocks away and still gaining speed

But before he could either comfort me or commit further acts of violence upon my person, I spun away from him and made my drama queen moment complete by running away.

But that was all bravado. Already - how had it come about so quickly - desire had begotten need. A few whispered words (perhaps he didn't mean them) and I was ready to follow. It was worse to think of staying behind, to grind one day upon another. Nothing to hold me here. None to regret my leaving, save Az.

But this wasn't a perfect world -- this was the world that Solomon Reed had run away from and the more Lisa thought about it, the less ridiculous that idea sounded to her. After all, wasn't she just trying to run away from the little part of the world that scared her, too?

Don’t pretend, Bianca,” he said. “You’re smarter than that, and so am I. I finally figured out what you meant when you left. You said you were like Hester. I get it now. The first time you came to my house, when we wrote that paper, you said Hester was trying to escape. But everything caught up with Hester in the end, didn’t it? Well, something finally caught up with you, but you’re just running away again. Only, he”-Wesley pointed to my bedroom door-“is your escape this time.” He took a step toward me, forcing me to crane my neck even more to see his face. “Admit it, Duffy.” “Admit what?” “That you’re running away from me,” he said. “You realized you’re in love with me and you bailed because it scared the shit out of you.

Fluttershyes are like regular shyes, only shinier, and, apparently - also shyer. Whenever petted - they don't flutter, but run away instead.

Every day, when you're on the run, is the whole of your life. Every free minute is a short story with a happy ending.

Every time the song looped, all I heard was the part about the lies - and how they weigh you down. Tonight, as I drive toward Detroit in my Jeep, I know what those words really mean. It's not just the lies they're referring to. It's life. You can't run to another town, another place, another state. Whatever it is you're running from - it goes with you. It stays with you until you find out how to confront it.

Hey, Mom, I'm a married woman now. I want to have ten babies and live here forever and ever." How weird is that? It's almost ROMANTIC. And then I realized that my sister was trying to LIVE a romance novel. Man, that takes courage and imagination. Well, it also took some degree of mental illness, too, but I was suddenly happy for her. And a little scared.

Gilly had decided that this was a dream. The Witches' Carnival didn't exist in the real world. And the Gilly who existed in the real world was not brave or cunning enough to have done everything that she'd done in the past day. The real Gilly was not beautiful enough to be lying in bed beside a woman like Maggie. Gilly had decided this was a dream, and also that she'd let that real Gilly, deep asleep somewhere in the outskirts of Birmingham, wither away and never wake up. Already, Gilly could see herself arcing across the earth bright as a comet, moving too fast for the Ashleys and Tracyes, the thousand tiny insults and humiliations of the waking world, to ever catch.

Going away won't change anything if you're running from yourself.

He’s close enough now that I can hear his footfall on the pavement, and I know my chances of outrunning him are slim. I’m practically in a full sprint, and my pounding heart is begging me to take it down a notch. I try to will my feet to keep pace with its beat; but I think it’s humanly impossible to run that fast. And then it dawns on me that my footsteps are the only ones I hear. Somewhere along the way, Tristan’s must have come to a stop. And I can’t quite explain why I’m running this fast in the first place. I slow to a jog, intending to just pick up with my original pace; but I can’t seem to suck in breaths fast enough to propel my feet any further. My molten shoes stutter to a stop, as my hands come to rest on my knees. I’m still wheezily sucking in breath after breath of thick, humid air, when I warily turn to look over my shoulder. Tristan’s standing about fifty feet back, hands on his hips and a completely flummoxed twist in his forehead, his chest rising and falling with equally winded gasps. Evidently I was running faster than I gave myself credit for. As he silently watches me, regaining his breath as I do mine, the confusion on his face turns to undeniable hurt (and not the physical kind). I’ve wounded him, and I can’t even explain why. Man, I really am an ass. I start the slow walk of shame back to where he stands, one hand upon my hip as I pull in a few more calming deep breaths. I’m debating whether to concoct some excuse for my behavior…Maybe I left my contacts out today, and didn’t recognize his face? Who would blame me for running for my life, if a stranger seemed to be following me? But as I amble closer—his wrinkled forehead already fading in the wake of a welcoming smile—I decide not to dig myself a deeper hole. I’m already a straight-up jerk. I’d rather not add lying to my repertoire.

He used you, yeah. But what if you hadn't come? My family would have run again, but we would never have been free. We would never stop hunting us." "I know." I thought of my frustration in Paris and I couldn't even imagine how sick of running Seth must be. "That's why I had to come." His eyebrow cocked upward. "And here I thought you came to see me.

Home.” This was my mantra, my four-letter savior.

How I long to run through the front gate, into the night. This new Iran has taken something from me, ripped a hole in my soul. Somewhere in this tumble, I worry if I've lost my moral certainty. Who knows what fell out, but a part of me is missing. That much is clear.

How long since he'd been back home? Ten years? Fifteen? He'd stopped keeping track around the time he'd finally stopped looking over his shoulder. At the time, leaving had seemed too good to be true. He'd spent months feeling like he was half a step ahead of some nameless specter; like if he let his guard down, even for a second, whatever it was would drag him right back where he'd come from.

I could still turn back before I pass the last houses and really have to commit to this.

I also know about running away," I said, "when staying around is so much harder. And I know the happiness, the"-I searched for a word and had to settle on- "the joy when sticking around and fighting things mean I get to keep the people I love near me.

...I didn't run away to come home the same. -Claudia

If he could do one thing, he could run. He had spent his life running, secrets spitting at his back.

I do know this. It's the things we run from that hurt us the most." –Brad Sturdevant

If ever I was running, it was towards you.

If you’re tired of starting over, then you need to learn to stick through and overcome difficult things instead of running away from them.

If you run, you better be faster than my gun. -Weasel to illegal aliens

I guess that's the really nice thing about disappearing: the part where people look for you and beg you to come home.

Im bliższa jestem rzeczywistości, tym częściej uciekam.

I'll be the mountain whose whispers trigger you to stop running & start becoming the lovely yet stunning avalanche you most certainly are.

I'm homeless. I've taken to the belief that home is not where we lay our heads comfortably some nights, or where we entertain visiting friends. It's not where love is unconditional. When I look up and realize I haven't run away in a long time, I'll know I'm home.

I'm learning quickly, once you quit one thing, it gets easier and easier just to leave situations rather than deal with shit.

I think if we stop running towards broken arms, we’d all be just fine.

I need to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life and start figuring out the one I have.

No more,' I told him. 'No more running in the wrong direction... You run to me'.

I took to the Kingswood the midsummer after the Dame died. I did not swear a vow, but I kept to myself just as strictly, living like a beast in the forest from one midsummer to the next, without fire or iron or the taste of meat. I lived as prey, and I learned from the dogs how to run, from the hare how to hide in the bracken, and from the deer how to go hungry. In sorrow and pride I exiled myself to Kingswood. I shunned fire for I feared the kingsmen would hunt me down, and so by the way of cold and hunger I came near to refusing life itself. I never thought to anger or please a god by it.

Just a few more years and then we'll join the circus.

Just run away from your problems if you want cause sometimes we need a time to think and cool down a bit before making a decision.

My dear sister, you can’t escape God, and you can’t escape your skeletons in the closet. They will always be there until you take them out from behind those dusty old moth-eaten coats. Your exterior facade of ‘everything is alright’ only works for a little while, and then the cracks begin to show. You can only hide behind yourself for so long. You can’t keep running!

My past doesn't matter anymore. I'm moving on. I'll just keep running, if that's what it takes. The question is: Are you moving on with me?

My sister is running away to get lost, but I am running away because I want to find something. And my parents love me so much that they want to help me. Yeah, Dad is a drunk and Mom is an ex-drunk, but they don't want their kids to be drunks.

Questions from earlier circle like buzzards. Am I running away or moving forward?

One would think it would be most unwise in a man to be afraid of a skeleton, since Nature has set curious and quite insuperable obstacles to his running away from it.

Our art is made in cities like New York by people who are running from other places. They feel themselves as misfits who were trapped in dead-end suburbs. They hated high school. Their parents did not understand. They are seeking a better world. And when they realize that the world is wholly a problem, that the whole problem is in them, they make television for other people who are also running, who take voyage in search of a perfect world, then rage at the price of the ticket.

Ran away? Or ran toward? It's subjective.

Now that I could not go back I was not sure, after all, that I wished to go forward. It was a miserable sensation.