Dave Matthews Quotes

But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?

All right, then, I thought: here I am in the bottom of a well.

That is how prison is tearing me up inside. It hurts every day. Every day takes me further from my life.

In my mind I'm a blind man doin' time.

I'm kind of claustrophobic... It's not even like enclosed spaces. It's like I hate being stuck in one band, you know? Just being stuck is the biggest drag, for fear that, you know, just that you can't get out.

I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.

If I'm with someone for too long, I begin feeling trapped.

I've never enjoyed being cooped up.

Trapped' is unique because it focuses on one character who is stuck in an apartment.

It was the darkness that got you. It was heavy darkness, greasy and compelling. It made walls round you, and shut you in so that you felt like you could not breathe.

I sank back in the gray, plush seat and closed my eyes. The air of the bell jar wadded round me and I couldn't stir.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering—this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutary day-time advice for everyone. But at three o’clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn’t work—and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.

I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.

They don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most go mad within weeks - Lupin

My life is too tight, he wanted to say. My skin is too tight. The walls are too tight.

I don't know what I am thinking. But I am alone. I am trapped in the net of the room. In the net of humans. I think maybe I am drowning in the net of humans.

It is a tragic hour, that hour when we are finally driven to reckon with ourselves, when every avenue of mental distraction has been cut off and our own life and all its ineffaceable failures closes about us like the walls of that old torture chamber of the Inquisition.

Me in a one-man tent crouching over carrier bag. It's not just the lowest point of the trip. It's the lowest point ever. In 38 years.

Sadness was so claustrophobic.

Two places in this world make it impossible for a man to escape from himself: a battlefield and a prison cell.

We are closed in, and the key is turned / On our uncertainty.

We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us.

A man who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.