Oppressive Atmosphere Quotes

Fear was my father, Father Fear. His look drained the stones.

Are traditional schools very much like mini-prisons? Do they stifle imagination, cramp the child physically and mentally, and run on various forms of overt or covert terrorism? Of course, the answer is an unambiguous YES.

There was no air; only the dead, still night fired by the dog days of August. Not a breath. I had to suck in the same air I exhaled, cupping it in my hands before it escaped. I felt it, in and out, less each time…until it was so thin it slipped through my fingers forever. I mean, forever.

I'm very claustrophobic.

The longer we were in it, the smaller it seemed to get.

I'm phobic about the idea of being constrained.

There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

I would never say, 'Ooh, let's do something really dark.'

I'm claustrophobic.

I was starting to feel really suffocated, using the sequencer.

For the sight of the angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart.

The silence of a room when someone enters with a gun is very different from the sound that room makes when empty.

And in the afternoon they entered a land - but such a land! A land hung in mourning, darkened by gigantic cypresses, submerged; a land of reptiles, silence, shadow, decay.

You talk about rowdy - in Oakland the players were on you. The refs were on you. The stands were on you. You had to talk back or you were a sissy; you'd get run out of the league. Afterward? Yeah, it was kind of a, uh, struggle to get out of the gym. Cops had to be everywhere. Which was lucky.

Baltimore's just like, it's like being in prison but being on the yard the whole day.

I don't get claustrophobic.

The choking humidity makes amphibians of us all, in Bombay, breathing water in air; you learn to live with it, and you learn to like it, or you leave.

Hatta always gave the impression of rain. If I was in a real good mood and full of ideas and then happened to encounter Hatta, I felt I was suddenly surprised by a shower of rain and got wet all over the body. My good mood was gone, and also my ideas.

Working is bad enough in the winter, but in the summer it can become completely intolerable. Stuck in airless offices, every fibre of our being seems to cry out for freedom. We're reminded of being stuck in double maths while the birds sing outside.

A town so suffocating and small, you tripped over people you hated every day. People who knew things about you. It's the kind of place that leaves a mark.

In the procession I should feel the crushing feet, the clashing discords, the ruthless hands and stifling breath. I could not hear the rhythm of the march.

It seems to be sometimes that there is a curse on Jerusalem – I so seldom meet anyone who is happy here. There is a tense atmosphere, not only over religions but as if the turmoils of centuries are still alive. Perhaps these thoughts stem from my own sadness yet I suspect Jerusalem must remain, for ever, a place of conflict.

When I was young, it was sort of built to intimidate. Even on this very local level in this very small church in this small town, it still held that sort of - held you in the palm of its darkness.

Luckily, I am not at all claustrophobic.

I think I've gotten that before - people have been like, 'Oh, you have a creepy stare.' My energy personally is not as threatening, I don't think.