Best 237 quotes in «wild quotes» category

Always let life be wild. Forever have life be interesting.

A bus drives past and I’m nauseated by a whiff of exhaust. Then rotting fish. The rancid stench of sewage. Is it garbage day? I’m 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.

A few drinks and the world was hers— she wore her whiskey like a loaded gun.

A man is not for you when all he knows is to slam your back on the bed and ram into you like a wild fool. The interested ones are the ones so interested that they become very interested in only interesting things about you.

And damn it, I should be thinking this through. Normal people can’t leave their job to return a notebook. But this job sucks, and I haven’t taken any vacation time, like, ever. I should seriously be consulting with a lot of different people before jumping in, but that’s never been a strong suit of mine. Because there’s a need in Julienne’s voice that I haven’t heard before, and I have nothing waiting for me here that won’t be there when we get back.

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")

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.

Anthropocentric as [the gardener] may be, he recognizes that he is dependent for his health and survival on many other forms of life, so he is careful to take their interests into account in whatever he does. He is in fact a wilderness advocate of a certain kind. It is when he respects and nurtures the wilderness of his soil and his plants that his garden seems to flourish most. Wildness, he has found, resides not only out there, but right here: in his soil, in his plants, even in himself... But wildness is more a quality than a place, and though humans can't manufacture it, they can nourish and husband it... The gardener cultivates wildness, but he does so carefully and respectfully, in full recognition of its mystery.

And the stars blinked as they watched her carefully jealous of the way she shone.

Animals do not even know that God is someone else

Art takes time— Monet grew his gardens before he painted them.

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.

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

As he took her hand he gave her all she had been waiting for-- a shiver down her spine.

A sky full of stars and he was staring at her. —ATTICUS

Be an individual, let out the self that hides away at the expense of others approval.

Because you cannot tame something so happily wild...

But a wild creature will always go back to the wild, in the end.

Brushing a girl’s hair behind her ear once a day will solve more problems than all those therapists and drugs.

But, sometimes, especially late at night, when only the wind is awake with my thoughts, I feel an urgent need. I think of lacing up my tennis shoes and stepping out the door, already in a half run. I think of running and running forever, until I become part of the night sky. -The Art of Leaving

But I weren't no quitter No wolf nor bear just gives up when they get beat or hungry. You ever seen a bear jump off a cliff 'cause life handed him a few rough draws? No, you haven't. The wild keeps going till it don't have strength in its muscles and bones. The wild doesn't give up; it's forever, and so was I.

But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.

Come, my darling, it is never too late to begin our love again.

Dejavu' is a subconcious reminder of the contract your soul signed long before you chose the body you would reside in on earth. Trust the timing of uncanny moments, synchronicity and your gut instinct.

Despite all their flaws, zoos wake us up. They invite us to step outside our most basic assumptions. Offered for our contemplation, the animals remind us of nature’s impossibly varied schemes for survival, all the strategies that species rely upon for courtship and mating and protecting the young and establishing dominance and hunting for something to eat and avoiding being eaten. On a good day, zoos shake people into recognizing the manifold possibilities of existence, what it’s like to walk across the Earth, or swim in its oceans of fly above its forests—even though most animals on display will never have the chance to do any of those things again, at least not in the wild.

Did I ever tell you about Asin? She is the wild woman of the woods. It's an old story of the People. My mom used to tell me about Asin. Asin couldn't bear being married or having children or having friends. She always wanted to run wild. She ran wild through the woods. If you saw her running you had to run to water as fast as you could and drink or her restlessness would come into you like a thirst that could never be quenched. She was happy and unhappy. She had wild long hair and she was very tall and she ran like the wind. When you saw dunegrass rippling in a line she was running through it. When the wind changed direction suddenly that was Asin. She was never satisfied or content and so she ran and ran and ran. She would grab men who were fishing alone and make love to them and then throw them down on the ground and run away weeping. She would grab children who wandered too far alone in the woods but she would return them to the same spot after three days and run away again. She would listen to women talking by the fire or working in the village or gathering berries but if they invited her to join them she ran away. You could hear her crying sometimes when the sun went down. She wanted something but she never knew what it was so she had nothing. She was as free as anyone ever could be and she was trapped. When I was young I wanted to be Asin. Many times I wanted to be Asin. So do you, Nora. I know. It's okay. It's alright. My sweet love. Poor Asin. Sometimes I think to be Asin would be the saddest thing in the world. Poor thing.

Discover more about yourself, dream wild dreams because what others see in you right is just a mild chapter of you; the wild chapter will unfold sooner! Dare to dream and shape the dream every day!

Do not feed your motives, just feed the bears.

Do not settle for living a version of your life designed by another. You are not meant to be gatekeeper or the holder of secrets and shame. You are here to live free and clear and into your own wide open truth. If you are spending too much time around people who expect otherwise you will begin to notice a feeling of constriction. Sometimes the life we create can be come a cage of our own making. Sometimes we stifle our truths to make others comfortable. Do not sacrifice your own comfort and freedom for that of another. The price you pay for this is too high. Define your own space. Remember your own divinity. You have a responsibility to this existence to live in fullness of your truth and art and purpose. Do not be diminished by circumstance or opinion or judgement. Your story is your own; nobody can write it but you. You hold the paper, you choose the pen, and you write your life story the way only you can. So, if someone tries to build you a box, rip that fucker apart and use the wood to build yourself a stage, then ditch your indoor voice and sing it loud. People are not meant to live quietly in small containers no matter how beautiful. A gilded cage is still confinement. You are a wild child – only the open air of freedom will do.

Do not try quiet my voice. Do not attempt to soften my edges or tame my prowl. I am inhabiting my wild. I am encompassing the dance. I am no longer burning down. That time is over. I am the white hot ignition. I am starting the fire. I am rising like flame.

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.

Don't settle your wild, find a man who doesn't want to tame it.

Don't worry— you see, to some you are magic.

do you dare to step in- to the vulnerable black, stripped to the soul with human blindness – when the full and weeping moon steps from the shade of a tumult of mountains – when, in the fragrant dim, day's tree stump transforms into some nether-worldly other – when time's skin is thin and you are bared – when there is nothing between you and the Wildest One whose name is your own?

Drugs to me have always been a pretty girl with a sly smile beckoning me with a finger down the dark path of a fork in the road.

Enjoy the contented silence.

Even a wolf knows how to be polite when animalistic humans have no clue about politeness

Every creature was designed to serve a purpose. Learn from animals for they are there to teach you the way of life. There is a wealth of knowledge that is openly accessible in nature. Our ancestors knew this and embraced the natural cures found in the bosoms of the earth. Their classroom was nature. They studied the lessons to be learned from animals. Much of human behavior can be explained by watching the wild beasts around us. They are constantly teaching us things about ourselves and the way of the universe, but most people are too blind to watch and listen.

EVERYTHING WE LOVE IS WELL ARRANGED DUST. - ATTICUS

Find a part of yourself hidden in the twilight.

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.

Fly blindly, trust is full of magic. Let your wild voice guide the way.

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.

Go now, and live. Experience. Dream. Risk. Close your eyes and jump. Enjoy the freefall. Choose exhilaration over comfort. Choose magic over predictability. Choose potential over safety. Wake up to the magic of everyday life. Make friends with your intuition. Trust your gut. Discover the beauty of uncertainty. Know yourself fully before you make promises to another. Make millions of mistakes so that you will know how to choose what you really need. Know when to hold on and when to let go. Love hard and often and without reservation. Seek knowledge. Open yourself to possibility. Keep your heart open, your head high and your spirit free. Embrace your darkness along with your light. Be wrong everyday once in a while, and don't be afraid to admit it. Awaken to the brilliance in ordinary moments. Tell the truth about yourself no matter what the cost. Own your reality without apology. See goodness in the world. Be Bold. Be Fierce. Be Grateful. Be Wild, Crazy and Gloriously Free. Be You. Go now, and live.

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.

Her eyes remind me of the Pacific: Raging. Fearless. Restless.

Her love is rare but she'll keep you wild.

Her love was as wild as the flames that made her. She was not the one to be tamed but loved from far.

He’s just a boy, pretending to be a wolf, pretending to be king

How does a person exist after their world has been torn to pieces? It must be possible. People do it all the time. After all the floods and tornadoes and wars that have hit the world with inexorable violence, people somehow scrape up their lives and begin again.