Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Weaned. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Weaned Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Thomas Jefferson,Jasleen Kaur Gumber,Trebor Healey,Geoffrey Chaucer,Brandi Glanville for you to enjoy and share.
We are completely saddled and bridled, and ... the bank is so firmly mounted on us that we must go where it will guide.
I have fallen,
for your words.
They are like,
a gossamer cobweb,
I have been,
embroiled,
decoyed,
snared into!
Incapacitated.
I fail to escape.
I fail to liberate.
Your words,
didn't redeem,
made me a,
captive instead.
Jaded. I never understood the term. Jade is pretty and worth something, yes? I was rusted if I was anything. Too long in the rain. Going out in an orange blaze of muted, anonymous, common-as-dirt oxidation.
Ther nis no werkman, whatsoevere he be, That may bothe werke wel and hastily.
I had stopped doing anything for myself. I no longer felt like an individual because for thirteen years, I was one-half of a we.
The eater becoming the eaten!
This is the pain-pleasure of having newly adult children; they're innocent and ruthless in forgetting their sweet old dependence.
We thrust our fingers into our ears to stop its moan; but it was no good; the cry cut like a drill into our heads, dragging minutes into hours, hours into years. We withered and grew old between those cries.
I was becoming a product of society, a hardened juvenile! Now I was becoming rebellious and hateful.
I was a ravenous child. I'm a ravenous adult. I love to eat.
Achievement unlocked.
Lust indulged became habit, and habit unresisted became necessity.
As a child I was slave to my impulses; now I am slave to my habits, as are all grown men.
We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still.
Once we began to chime the hour, we lost the ability to be satisfied
Be ignited, or be gone.
To be worn out is to be renewed.
We weren't supposed to live like this.
I was patience defined, patience misspelled, patience sounded out slowly, letter by letter, with the t pronounced shh.
WORDS SHLD BE FREE. RELEASE THEM FROM THEIR SENTENCES.
Caught in the moorless place between young adulthood and middle age, we were just learning how to forgive ourselves.
We are prisoners of the world's demented sink.
The soft enchantments of our years of innocence
Are harvested by accredited experience
Our fondest memories soon turn to poison
And only oblivion remains in season.
I'm wild again, beguiled again, a whimpering, simpering child again. Bewitched, bothered, bewildered am I.
Young, Chade suggested. Young and full of righteous fury. Hurt and heartbroken, I suggested. So tired of being thwarted. Tired of being bound by rules that no one else had to follow.
Never quenched. Though I am doused in you, I burn.
I have been made to learn that the doom and burden of our life is bound forever on man's shoulders; and when the attempt is made to cast it off, it but returns upon us with more unfamiliar and more awful pressure.
We are disposable tonight.
We are regrettable tonight.
We can't touch one another without the world imploding, tonight.
We are the orphans of our son.
We ourselves are the substance we withdraw to, not from, as we pull our overextended and misplaced creative energy back into our own core.
The werehyena Casanova strikes again.
These feelings are too fierce to last. They can only burn, making us ash and char.
How grateful we are for you, our youth.
All moral elevation consists first and foremost of being weaned from the momentary.
How sad that youth, with all its power,
Was given us in vain, to burn;
That we betrayed it every hour,
And were deceived by it in turn;
I felt caged by my childhood.
Given in love. Defiled by remorse.
We change from the awakening questing creatures we were once, afire with wonder, and expectancy, and doubt, to persons of opinion and authority, our habits formed, our characters moulded in a pattern
What does tamed mean? It's something that's been too often neglected. It means to create ties.
RETURN TO TENDER
Our aging parents deserve the same loving care they gave us in infancy
Kamil Ali
But I was still cursed with my duality of purpose; and as the first edge of my penitence wore off, the lower side of me, so long indulged, so recently chained down, began to growl for licence.
All we ask is to be let alone.
We can be mended.
In a seriously intended intellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also hope to find their advantage.
We were hooked when we woke.
We had arms for each other.
But I yearned to resume
My dreams of another.
We were all feeling that bit shagged and fagged and fashed, it having been an evening of some small energy expenditure.
I had lost the habit of eating for pleasure and ate only to satisfy hunger
Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.
we became the books we read.
And clung more closely to the dear human love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to Himself.
We wove a web in childhood, A web of sunny air; We dug a spring in infancy Of water pure and fair; We sowed in youth a mustard seed, We cut an almond rod; We are now grown up to riper age- Are they withered in the sod?
I feel as I were disintegrating and "growing up", whatever that means, simultaneously.
We can be mended. We mend each other.
To Be Trained Is To Be Strengthened
We took up
our positions, in obedience to instructions.
The intellectuals and the young, booted and spurred, feel themselves born to ride us.
We are the estranged orphans of our nations and tribes, and we now bear the weight not of survival of the group but of personal identity.
It takes a major unhappiness, a prolonged and bitter experience, to drive us away from loyalties once formed. And sometimes no amount of punishment can make us repudiate our loyalty.
We must get over wanting to be needed.
We, her children, are heroic, dersperate.
If one could recover the uncompromising spirit of one's youth, one's greatest indignation would be for what one has become.
The hunger inside us must be fed to be controlled.
I was adrift, tugged and pulled by the gravity of solitude, a festering hunger driving me like a relentless martinet
After a sound drubbing followed by half a day's fasting, I felt more like laughing than like crying; and, in half a while, all was forgotten and my wickedness began afresh and worse than ever.
I no longer desire anything but to be Thine.
In our instinctive rebellion against pain, we are children again, and demand an active will to wreak our vengeance on.
We learned a new way to consume each other, without the need for any drug or conflict. We smothered each other in kisses and dreams of our future and poetic wishes that ended in moans. Our addictions shifted to our obsession with us.
Come, try, give any one of us, for instance, a little more independence, untie our hands, widen the spheres of our activity, relax the control and we ... yes, I assure you ... we should be begging to be under control again at once.
We were ensnared by the wisdom of the serpent; we are set free by the foolishness of God .
We lost weight and grew thin. We stopped bleeding. We stopped dreaming. We stopped wanting.
Yet the hour of emancipation is advancing ... this enterprise is for the young; for those who can follow it up, and bear it through to it's consummation. It shall have all my prayers, and these are the only weapons of an old man.
Well, I'm disenchanted, too. We're all disenchanted.
We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to Love and Truth,
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung,
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
God help us, for we knew the worst too young!
from Gentleman Rankers
Imagine that. Terrible, terrible, the way we have all bent to the yoke; the affection we have for the harness about us.
How shall I a habit break? As you did that habit make, As you gathered, you must lose; As you yielded, now refuse, Thread by thread the strands we twist Till they bind us neck and wrist, Thread by thread the patient hand Must untwine ere free we stan
Here, where we were home. Here, where we'd been Pulled.
year-old girl. It was more than a habit, for a habit could be broken. This was a deep disposition, the outline experience had stencilled on character. It was not
No longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from.
expelled from the garden.
Anger as soon as fed is dead-
'Tis starving makes it fat.
We had given it a name, a substance, and somehow, in doing that, we had condemned ourselves.
On that first day when we look back, either happily or with remorse, to the stony ways over which we have traveled, losing concern for that part of the journey which is yet to come, we have grown old.
We will always be tethered. The End
Landry, I'm free. Well, I'll be free as soon as I tell my mom I quit. Or, as free as I can be with my heart chained to yours.
[ ... ] we drank each other up with so much yearning and need that afterward I felt myself drained of all the things the Chairman had taken from me, and yet filled with all that I had taken from him.
You dangle on the leash of your own longing;
your need grows teeth
Revive, Rekindle, Rejoice.
The child is grown, the dream is gone
We are not our parents,
We gave up the aroma of warm bread rising, the measured pace of nurturing routines, the creative task of molding our families' tastes and zest for life; we received in exchange the minivan and the Lunchable.
Sat in groups together purging ourselves, theoretically, of anger and self-hatred. We learned not to turn on ourselves. We learned to blame.
I dropped a word from the string of negative adjectives that had trailed behind me like tin cans behind the village idiot. Unappreciated, unloved, unmarried. But no longer unpublished.
Late hours, nocturnal cigars, and midnight drinkings, pleasurable though they may be, consume too quickly the free-flowing lamps of youth, and are fatal at once to the husbanded candle-ends of age.
Wyrd bith ful araed (Fate is inexorable).
A boy's appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until soon he was as ravenous as a bear.
We do not become. We simply are.
the daily diminishment is a low flame, a constant drip.
Privation is the source of appetite.
There was something about that
word - we - that comforted me. There was no longer him. There was no
longer me. There was us.
The Spell's on You
We nurture the candle flames that show the way ahead. We are guerrillas of the word, unsung heroes breathing softly on the embers of the human mind, so that they might re-ignite the hearths around which we once found safe haven. The book is the Light and the Life.