Quotes About Resilience

Can you rework your past, the grit that rubs in you, until it is shiny and smooth as a pearl?

Q: What does the human spirit do after ten days without sleep, and ten days of isolation tempered only by nocturnal threat sessions? A: It dreams up a solution.

To understand her," I say, "you have to understand what she was trying to do. Dora was ... a verb.

What surprises me about living here is that, no matter how much is taken out, this linoleum palace continues to contain all the necessities for life, at the same time as it refuses to admit a single thing, either accidentally or arranged, of beauty or joy. In this, I think, it is much like East Germany itself.

Es ist Jahre her, da hatte das Leben für sie aufgegeben, als Charles auf schmerzhafte Weise bewusst wurde, wie schwer es ihm fiel, die Pläne für das Projekt zu lesen, das andere das Leben nannten.

Es gibt keinen Kummer, über den ein Buch nicht hinwegtrösten könnte, sagte der große Dichter. Wir werden sehen.

Je peux pas faire reset. Je ne peux pas. Mon enfance, c'est un poison que j'ai dans le sang et y a que quand je serai morte que j'en souffrirai plus. Mon enfance, c'est moi, et comme mon enfance ne vaut rien, moi, derrière, j'ai beau essayer de la contrecarrer de toutes mes forces, je ne fais jamais le poids.

Un mundo en el que todo el mundo se suicida así: a fuego lento y arrastrando consigo a los más débiles.

Vai k?dreiz k?ds jau ir uzdrošin?jies jums iebilst? – es pajaut?ju.. Ne jau k?ds. Visa mana dz?ve.

Our certainties never really hold water. One day you feel like dying and the next you realize all you had to do was go down a few stairs to find the light switch so you could see things a bit more clearly.

Ocurre a menudo que en amor nos sintamos engañados, heridos y desgraciados, pero seguimos amando. Y, con un pie en la tumba, volvemos la vista atrás y nos decimos: Muchas veces sufrí, algunas erré, pero siempre amé.

T?da ir gandr?z ikviena cilv?ka dz?ve. M?s laipojam, mekl?jam kompromisus, mums katram ir savs mazais g??vums ?ep?s k? parastam dz?vniekam. M?s to glaud?m pa spalvai, m?s to dres?jam, m?s tam pie?eramies. T?da ir dz?ve. Ir drosm?gie, un ir tie, kuri piel?gojas. Tas nogurdina daudz maz?k – piel?goties…

Life is stronger than you are, even when you deny it, even when you neglect it, even when you refuse to admit it.

recover. He

stand the sods up against a wall

Yes, even when I don't believe— there is a place in me inaccessible to unbelief, a patch of wild grace, a stubborn preserve, impenetrable, pain untouched by the sleeping body, music that builds its nest in silence. — Anna Kamienska, "Lack of Faith," Astonishments: Selected Poems of Anna Kamienska . Paraclete Press (MA); First Edition edition July 1, 2007) Originally published 2007.

Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.

You mustn't be so afraid of life - it's all we've got. Don't let it hurt you so much.

Where do I always find enough courage for one last hope? I am the enemy of this indestructible, pitiless hope which prolongs and intensifies all my pain. I would like to lay hold of hope and strangle it once and for all.

Her life was shameful and lonely. There was no longer any hope for her, there was no chance of escape. Yet, in spite of her humiliation and the despair which possessed her, she still remained in some part of her soul aloof and untouched. It was the hard centre of her being which never altered. Nothing could touch that.

What can I do now? What am I to become? How can I live in this world I'm condemned to but can't endure? They couldn't stand it either, so they made a world of their own. Well, they have each other's company, and they are heroes, whereas I'm quite alone, and have none of the qualities essential to heroism - the spirit, the toughness, the dedication. I'm back where I was as a child, solitary, helpless, unwanted, frightened.

I relied on what I wrote to build a bridge which could not be cut down. It was my own self in which I trusted, not seeing self as that last cell from which escape can only come too late.

So this was how he lived now, getting jittery because a bus pulled up near. Well, he was not going on like that. It was not good enough. The one person who could help him had not appeared. He probably never would. But there must be some other way. He knew that there was another way although for the moment he couldn't think what it was. Soon it would come back to him, in a minute he would remember the way out, the way where he was going.

They've all been against me, ever since I can remember, even when I was six years old. What sort of human beings are these, who can be inhuman to a child of six? How can I help hating them all? Sometimes they disgust me so much that I feel I can't go on living among them - that I must escape from the loathsome creatures swarming like maggots all over the earth.