A Quote by Lauren Wasser
All of a sudden, I don't have a leg. I'm in a wheelchair. I have half a foot; I can't even walk to the bathroom. I'm in a bed, I can't move, and I felt like those four walls were my prison.
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I had to teach myself how to walk again. It was crazy. I couldn't even make a muscle in my leg. I felt like no muscles in my leg. I was already skinny. It was like my leg was dead.
Her body was a prison, her mind was a prison. Her memories were a prison. The people she loved. She couldn't get away from the hurt of them. She could leave Eric, walk out of her apartment, walk forever if she liked, but she couldn't escape what really hurt. Tonight even the sky felt like a prison.
An intelligent, energetic, educated woman cannot be kept in four walls - even satin-lined, diamond-studded walls - without discovering sooner or later that they are still a prison cell.
Everything in my room was old and faded, but I loved that about it. It felt like there might be secrets in the walls, in the four-poster bed, especially in that music box.
There are bathroom singers, but I am a bathroom painter. In other words, my art will stay inside the four walls of my house.
If we see someone in a wheelchair, we assume they cannot walk. It may be that they can walk three, four, five steps. That, to them, means they can walk.
Countless candles dribbled with hot wax, and their flames, like little flags, fluttered in the unchartered currents of air. Thousands of lamps, naked, or shuttered behind coloured glass, burned with their glows of purple, amber, grass-green, blue, blood red and even grey. The walls of Gormenghast were like the walls of paradise or like the walls of an inferno. The colours were devilish or angelical according to the colour of the mind that watched them. They swam, those walls, with the hues of hell, with the tints of Zion. The breasts of the plumaged seraphim; the scales of Satan.
I have a very basic leg. But it has a silicon cover on it. I have a flat foot leg, a high heel leg and then I have a leg which, in the winter, I have to ski in and in the summer I swap it into my roller blades.
All of a sudden it felt like people were peering over my shoulder, wondering what I would write next. I was blocked for four years.
I left football, and overnight, I couldn't walk. I wet the bed even though the bathroom was only three meters away. It was 4 A.M., and I knew if I stood, my ankle would kill me.
we left about midnight and walked down the hill in silence. the night was muggy, and all around me i felt the same pressure, a sense of time rushing by while it seemed to be standing still. whenever i thought of time in puerto rico, i was reminded of those old magnetic clocks that hung on the walls of my classrooms in high school. every now and then a hand would not move for several minutes -- and if i watched it long enough, wondering if it had finally broken down, the sudden click of the hand jumping three for four notches would startle me when it came.
Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.
I wasn't able to explode, jump, run - not even walk without pain being in the back of my leg. Every time I bent my leg, even in a walking motion, I was wondering what was wrong with me. But I stuck with it.
Public school felt like prison - cinderblock walls, fluorescent lights, metal lockers. It was so sterile and unstimulating.
The doctors said I might not be able to walk again. Today, I can almost run, but back then, I couldn't even stand up. I was bed-ridden. If I wanted to turn over in bed, I had to move my legs with my hands. I was in and out of the hospital for months.
I'm always like this after fights - I can't sleep, I'm only getting a couple of hours a night for three or four days then all of a sudden I'm wiped out for a full night where I don't even move.
