Wild Quotes

I promise I shall never give up, and that I’ll die yelling and laughing, and that until then I’ll rush around this world I insist is holy and pull at everyone’s lapel and make them confess to me and to all.

Tonight, I decided to take a stroll down to my local liquor store. Maybe I’ll find a refreshment to wash down this full moon. I hate showing up & the clerk fucking knows my name, perhaps because I’m a regular. Anyways got my shit, left…barely covering the tax. Took the long way home; to get away from that haunting typewriter. Sat down at some park bench, as I started to open my poison; A memory rushed into me. A empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s under the Christmas tree. I thought my dad would want another drink, so started to pour my bottle into the dirt & cried.

Enough !! of the lion ruling the wild territory, time to vote the panther gentlemen.

I just need you and some sunsets. 

In the same way that the picturesque designers were always careful to include some reminder of our mortality in their gardens -- a ruin, sometimes even a dead tree -- the act of leaving parts of the garden untended, and calling attention to its margins, seems to undermine any pretense to perfect power or wisdom on the part of the gardener. The margins of our gardens can be tropes too, but figures of irony rather than transcendence -- antidotes, in fact, to our hubris. It may be in the margins of our gardens that we can discover fresh ways to bring our aesthetics and our ethics about the land into some meaningful alignment.

Thinking of you is a poison I drink often. 

If you have to ask that question, you wouldn't understand the answer.

PuppeteerJust because you tell me I'm beautifulAnd that I'm worth your whileYou expect me to feel like the luckiest girl in the worldSo I should lower my head, talk less, smile more, be more polite, bend to your will, kiss your feet?I will snap those stringsStrap on my six inch heelsI will be thunder and lightning and fire and every nightmare you are afraid ofI will be everything you can't handleWhen you wake up choking on your kool-aid of lies, you will not forget the fierce untamable tempestuous wave that swept you away

I've finally decided to write about profit for a changeBut before I really started I already started to feel lameBaby what's it to a beast who manely to money remains untamed

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!

Insatiable is my desire for you, Insane is my love you,Limitless are my boundaries for you, True are my feelings for you,Wildest are my imaginations for you, Intense is my passion for you,Soul is my offering for you, Commitment is my promise to you,

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.

I was raised feral, and I mostly stayed that way.

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.

Sometimes I want a quiet lifeother timesI want to go a little bit fucking Gatsby.

She was everything real in a world of make-believe. 

Oh, now my Erin, she'd smile down on me no matter where I walked." Grandpop smiled that little smile again. "But I'd be separated from her, and I'd feel that separation in my soul, you see?"Nathan shook his head.Grandpop sighed. "You have the Irish eyes, boy. One of these days, you'll see from eyes, not your own, feel with a heart outside your chest. Wild Irish eyes. Nathan. When you love, love well and love true, and take care, lad, because those Irish eyes are windows into not just your own soul, but the soul of the one you love." Grandpop looked out at his Erin's grave."And when you lose that heart, you can't leave the places where your memories are the best. And if I left her, I'd not be buried beside her.

What a strange world. We trade our days for things.

You stop revisiting memories when you outgrow the people you made them with.

It is in all of us to defy expectations, to go into the world and to be brave, and to want, to need, to hunger for adventures. To embrace the chance and risk so that we may breathe and know what it is to be free.

Poetry, is a life long war wagedagainst ineffable beauty.

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.

I don't want fleeting friendships or relationships or passion in life, give me fleeting moments in coffee shops and walks by the water but I will never be satisfied with empty kinships that are fleeting & undecided. Those connections are what make us all human and I dare not settle my wild little heart for something of so little depth.

Of course the Man was wild too. He was dreadfully wild. He didn't even begin to be tame till he met the Woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways. She picked out a nice dry Cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the Cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail down, across the opening of the Cave; and she said, 'Wipe your feet, dear, when you come in, and now we'll keep house.

THE HARDESTSTEPWE ALL MUST TAKEIS TO BLINDLY TRUST IN WHO WE ARE. - ATTICUS

Your Writing Teacher ‏@WritingChiefIf u don't get ur protagonist dirty, ur readers will get bored. Readers are wild, cliff-jumping, mud-wrestling savages. Become their leader. (anonymous on Twitter)

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.

I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.

We are, after all, human. There is something wild in those opposable thumbs.

Love is not all about loving everything perfect, it is when someones corrosive nature is the only thing that glues you to them which you wished it were never there.

The wild is where you find it, not in some distant world relegated to a nostalgic past or an idealized future; its presence is not black or white, bad or good, corrupted or innocent... We are of that nature, not apart from it. We survive because of it, not instead of it.

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?

Wildflowers can't be controlled, and neither can the girl with a soul boundless as the sky, and a spirit as free and wild as the ocean.

But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window--maybe rearrange all the furniture.

But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.

I have seen your darkest nights and brightest days and I want you to knowthat I will be here forever loving you in dusk.

She was afraid of heightsbut she was much more afraid of never flying.

True artcomes from flying with the madnessso close you burn your eyelashes.

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.

She was the kind of eleganceThat 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.

Kiss her gypsy soul and love her for the wild rose she is.

We are made of all those who have built and broken us.

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.

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

When the tidal waves wildly behavingMy bare feet on the shore busy savingThe calm warmth leaking out of the sandTo let my heart feel peacefully tanned!

There is a need to find and sing our own song, to stretch our limbs and shake them in a dance so wild that nothing can roost there, that stirs the yearning for solitary voyage.

She wore his love like a loaded gun. 

Depression is being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is.

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.

LOVE COULD BE LABLEDPOISON AND WE’D DRINK IT ANYWAYS.

I am a wildflower in your perfect bed of roses.

Dear Fellow Human Being,You are born wild, You do not deserve to be tamed!Tell yourself,You do not deserve this!All those toxic words you have to listen from people,All those fears they try to pin on your mind,All those giggles they aim at your dreams,All those judgmental stares inspecting your individuality,All those fingers pointing towards your crude character,All those shackles that tie your feet to social expectations,All those cages that do not let your imagination fly free,Listen deeply, you do not deserve any of it.My dear fellow human, you do not deserve this hostility.You are born wild, You do not deserve to be tamed!― Jasz Gill

We are all born free and spend a lifetime becoming slaves to our own false truths.

Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.

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

She has fought many wars, most internal. The ones that you battle alone, for this, she is remarkable. She is a survivor.

LIFE IS A JOURNEYTO FIND THE PEOPLEWEIRD LIKE YOU. —ATTICUS

There was something wild about her, as if she was connected to this place but not the people.

She walkedthrough her lifeheavyfrom themighty wingsupon her back.

She sat in her perfect house, with her perfect husband, wishing that her perfect life would end.