Walled Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
being-dead-is-being-weak-walled-off
happiness-is-garden-walled-with-glass-theres-no-way-in-out-margaret-atwood
he-has-walled-me-in-i-cannot-escape-he-has-weighed-me-down-with-chains-lamentations-37
the-old-internet-is-shrinking-being-replaced-by-walled-gardens-john-battelle
perhaps-my-children-will-live-in-stone-houses-walled-towns-not-i-genghis-khan
hell-isnt-merely-paved-with-good-intentions-it-is-walled-and-roofed-with-them
facebook-has-focused-on-conversation-but-not-really-on-absorbing-web-into-its-walled-garden-david-rusenko
i-do-not-wish-my-house-to-be-walled-my-windows-stuffed-i-want-all-cultures-to-blow-freely-through-my-dwelling-mahatma-gandhi
hell-isnt-merely-paved-with-good-intentions-its-walled-and-roofed-with-them-yes-and-furnished-too
thats-what-civilization-sometimes-did-to-threats-real-perceived-they-walled-them-off-us-against-them-survival-fittest-you-die-i-can-live-david-baldacci
nevertheless-the-people-be-strong-that-dwell-in-the-land-and-the-cities-are-walled-and-very-great-and-moreover-we-saw-the-children-of-anak-there
please-kenzie-jonah-thought-please-please-please-back-off-from-this-his-life-wasnt-much-but-it-was-all-he-had-this-small-safe-space-walled-in-by-secrets-cinda-williams-chima
religious-people-are-now-finding-that-first-amendment-is-being-used-to-herd-them-into-social-ghetto-separated-walled-off-from-public-participation-pat-swindall
if-man-sells-house-in-walled-city-he-retains-right-redemption-full-year-after-its-sale-during-that-time-he-may-redeem-it-leviticus-2529
dreadful-is-mysterious-power-fate-there-is-no-deliverance-from-it-by-wealth-by-war-by-walled-city-dark-seabeaten-ships-sophocles
now-that-were-essentially-indoor-species-walled-off-from-world-other-life-forms-were-divorced-from-domain-that-supports-sustains-our-lives-charlie-cook
the-armenian-language-cannot-be-worn-out-its-boots-are-stone-well-certainly-thickwalled-word-layers-air-in-semivowels-osip-mandelstam
if-it-is-not-redeemed-before-full-year-has-passed-house-in-walled-city-shall-belong-permanently-to-buyer-his-descendants-it-is-not-to-be-returned-leviticus-2530
blendedreality-technology-could-play-in-limited-walledgarden-world-but-history-suggests-that-it-wont-really-take-off-until-it-offers-broad-freedom-jamais-cascio
you-are-wise-as-well-as-short-i-can-also-break-bricks-with-my-bare-hands-thats-handy-skill-if-you-ever-find-yourself-walled-up-in-basement-nora-roberts
the-bad-thing-about-fear-is-it-requires-reaction-some-hide-some-cry-but-like-dog-condemned-to-walled-yard-with-no-hope-escape-affection-some-ellen-hopkins
can-i-have-glass-water-her-voice-was-hoarse-probably-from-screaming-shed-always-sounded-like-that-after-theyd-he-didnt-just-force-thought-aside-he-clubbed-it-unconscious-threw-it
happiness-is-garden-walled-with-glass-theres-no-way-in-out-in-paradise-there-are-no-stories-because-there-are-no-journeys-its-loss-regret-misery-yearning-that-drive-story-forward
ideas-in-modern-russia-are-machinecut-blocks-coming-in-solid-colors-nuance-is-outlawed-interval-walled-up-curve-grossly-stepped-vladimir-nabokov
i-have-no-problem-with-financial-industry-inviting-trojan-horse-blockchain-technology-into-their-walled-garden-because-i-know-how-powerful-technology-is
courage-was-mine-i-had-mystery-wisdom-was-mine-i-had-mastery-to-miss-march-this-retreating-world-into-vain-citadels-that-are-not-walled-wilfred-owen
you-have-infiltrated-me-completely-you-make-me-feel-alive-harlow-i-love-that-feeling-i-have-had-my-heart-walled-off-for-long-you-have-melted-it-i-can-feel-again-beckett-sm-stryke
an-army-environment-is-protected-walled-city-kind-environment-where-everybody-has-same-income-you-have-same-birthday-parties-you-are-given-return-gifts-everything-is-same-everybo
over-years-idea-seems-to-have-grown-up-that-brightly-coloured-flowers-are-vulgar-that-only-flowers-to-be-admitted-to-walled-garden-good-taste-are-discreet-pastel-hued
to-spend-time-in-silicon-valley-in-year-political-upheaval-is-on-one-level-soothing-it-is-pleasant-to-hear-talk-wearables-walled-gardens-disruptive-beverages-in-between-updates-a
it-is-shocking-how-much-day-care-center-is-like-prison-they-both-have-security-cameras-with-walled-exercise-yards-prisons-are-permanent-day-cares-for-people-permanently-in-time-o
bengeberin-ramoth-gilead-settlements-jair-son-manasseh-in-gilead-were-his-as-well-as-district-argob-in-bashan-its-sixty-large-walled-cities-with-1-kings-413
willingly-not-we-come-to-terms-with-power-forgetting-that-we-are-all-in-ghetto-that-ghetto-is-walled-in-that-outside-ghetto-reign-lords-death-that-close-by-train-is-waiting-by-pr
and-if-a-man-sell-a-dwelling-house-in-a-walled-city-then-he-may-redeem-it-within-a-whole-year-after-it-is-sold-within-a-full-year-may-he-redeem-it
now-driving-in-wild-frieze-headlong-horses-with-eyes-walled-teeth-cropped-naked-riders-with-clusters-arrows-clenched-in-their-jaws-their-shields-winking-in-dust-pu-far-side-ruine
from-space-astronauts-can-see-people-making-love-as-tiny-speck-light-not-light-exactly-but-glow-that-could-be-mistaken-for-light-coital-radiance-that-takes-generations-to-pour-li
It's not the drug that causes the junkie it's the laws that causes the junkie because of course the drug laws means that he can't go and get help because he is afraid of being arrested. He also can't have a normal life because the war on drugs has made drugs so expensive and has made drug contracts unenforceable which means they can only be enforced through criminal violence. It becomes so profitable to sell drugs to addicts that the drug dealers have every incentive to get people addicted by offering free samples and to concentrate their drug to the highest possible dose to provoke the greatest amount of addiction as possible. Overall it is a completely staggering and completely satanic human calamity. It is the new gulag and in some ways much more brutal than the soviet gulag. In the soviet gulags there was not a huge prison rape problem and in this situation your life could be destroyed through no fault of your own through sometimes, no involvement of your own and the people who end up in the drug culture are walled off and separated as a whole and thrown into this demonic, incredibly dangerous, underworld were the quality of the drugs can't be verified. Were contracts can't be enforced except through breaking peoples kneecaps and the price of drugs would often led them to a life of crime. People say 'well, I became a drug addict and I lost my house, family, and my job and all that.' It's not because you became a drug addict but, because there is a war on drugs which meant that you had to pay so much for the drugs that you lost your house because you couldn't go and find help or substitutes and ended up losing your job. It's all nonsense. The government can't keep drugs out of prisons for heaven's sakes. The war on drugs is not designed to be won. Its designed to continue so that the government can get the profits of drug running both directly through the CIA and other drug runners that are affiliated or through bribes and having the power of terrorizing the population. To frame someone for murder is pretty hard but to palm a packet of cocaine and say that you found it in their car is pretty damn easy and the government loves having that power." -Stefan Molyneux

Stefan Molyneux
its-not-drug-that-causes-junkie-its-laws-that-causes-junkie-because-course-drug-laws-means-that-he-cant-go-get-help-because-he-is-afraid-being-arrested-he-also-cant-have-normal-l
Calf-deep in the soothing water I indulge myself in the wishful vision. I am not unaware of what such daydreams signify, dreams of becoming an unthinking savage, of taking the cold road back to the capital, of groping my way out to the ruins in the desert, of returning to the confinement of my cell, of seeking out the barbarians and offering myself to them to use as they wish. Without exception they are dreams of ends: dreams not of how to live but of how to die. And everyone, I know, in that walled town sinking now into darkness (I hear the two thin trumpet calls that announce the closing of the gates) is similarly preoccupied. What has made it impossible for us to live in time like fish in the water, like birds in air, like children? It is the fault of Empire! Empire has created the time of history. Empire has located its existence not in the smooth recurrent spinning time of the cycle of the seasons but in the jagged time of rise and fall, of beginning and end, of catastrophe. Empire dooms itself to live in history and plot against history. One thought alone preoccupies the submerged mind of Empire: how not to end, how not to die, how to prolong its era. By day it pursues its enemies. It is cunning and ruthless, it sends its bloodhounds everywhere. By night it feeds on images of disaster: the sack of cities, the rape of populations, pyramids of bones, acres of desolation. A mad vision yet a virulent one: I, wading in the ooze, am no less infected with it than the faithful Colonel Joll as he tracks the enemies of Empire through the boundless desert, sword unsheathed to cut down barbarian after barbarian until at last he finds and slays the one whose destiny it should be (or if not his then his son's or unborn grandson's) to climb the bronze gateway to the Summer Palace and topple the globe surmounted by the tiger rampant that symbolizes eternal domination, while his comrades below cheer and fire their muskets in the air.

J.M. Coetzee
calfdeep-in-soothing-water-i-indulge-myself-in-wishful-vision-i-am-not-unaware-what-such-daydreams-signify-dreams-becoming-unthinking-savage-taking-cold-road-back-to-capital-grop
Old Hubert must have had a premonition of his squalid demise. In October he said to me, 'Forty-two years I've had this place. I'd really like to go back home, but I ain't got the energy since my old girl died. And I can't sell it the way it is now. But anyway before I hang my hat up I'd be curious to know what's in that third cellar of mine.' The third cellar has been walled up by order of the civil defence authorities after the floods of 1910. A double barrier of cemented bricks prevents the rising waters from invading the upper floors when flooding occurs. In the event of storms or blocked drains, the cellar acts as a regulatory overflow. The weather was fine: no risk of drowning or any sudden emergency. There were five of us: Hubert, Gerard the painter, two regulars and myself. Old Marteau, the local builder, was upstairs with his gear, ready to repair the damage. We made a hole. Our exploration took us sixty metres down a laboriously-faced vaulted corridor (it must have been an old thoroughfare). We were wading through a disgusting sludge. At the far end, an impassable barrier of iron bars. The corridor continued beyond it, plunging downwards. In short, it was a kind of drain-trap. That's all. Nothing else. Disappointed, we retraced our steps. Old Hubert scanned the walls with his electric torch. Look! An opening. No, an alcove, with some wooden object that looks like a black statuette. I pick the thing up: it's easily removable. I stick it under my arm. I told Hubert, 'It's of no interest... ' and kept this treasure for myself. I gazed at it for hours on end, in private. So my deductions, my hunches were not mistaken: the Bie¨vre-Seine confluence was once the site where sorcerers and satanists must surely have gathered. And this kind of primitive magic, which the blacks of Central Africa practise today, was known here several centuries ago. The statuette had miraculously survived the onslaught of time: the well-known virtues of the waters of the Bie¨vre, so rich in tannin, had protected the wood from rotting, actually hardened, almost fossilized it. The object answered a purpose that was anything but aesthetic. Crudely carved, probably from heart of oak. The legs were slightly set apart, the arms detached from the body. No indication of gender. Four nails set in a triangle were planted in its chest. Two of them, corroded with rust, broke off at the wood's surface all on their own. There was a spike sunk in each eye. The skull, like a salt cellar, had twenty-four holes in which little tufts of brown hair had been planted, fixed in place with wax, of which there were still some vestiges. I've kept quiet about my find. I'm biding my time.

Jacques Yonnet
old-hubert-must-have-had-premonition-his-squalid-demise-in-october-he-said-to-me-fortytwo-years-ive-had-this-place-id-really-like-to-go-back-home-but-i-aint-got-energy-since-my-o
Oh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On such a day - very much such a sweetness as this - I struck my first whale - a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty - forty - forty years ago! - ago! Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned, walled-town of a Captain's exclusiveness, which admits but small entrance to any sympathy from the green country without - oh, weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command! - when I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me before - and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare - fit emblem of the dry nourishment of my soul - when the poorest landsman has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the world's fresh bread to my mouldy crusts - away, whole oceans away, from that young girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow - wife? wife? - rather a widow with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab has furiously, foamingly chased his prey - more a demon than a man! - aye, aye! what a forty years' fool - fool - old fool, has old Ahab been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me? Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise. God! God! God! - crack my heart! - stave my brain! - mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on board, on board! - lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the far away home I see in that eye!

Herman Melville
oh-starbuck-it-is-mild-mild-wind-mild-looking-sky-on-such-day-much-such-sweetness-as-this-i-struck-my-first-whale-boyharpooneer-eighteen-forty-forty-forty-years-ago-ago-forty-yea
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