Quotes About Resilience

It takes courage to live in the midst of hate. And it requires strength to keep that hatred from eating your soul.

Looking backward should never divert our path to one of hatred and bitterness, for those steps lead nowhere but to destruction. To live in hatred is to miss the point of living.

Cânt?, Maria, fluxul, cânt?-l acum când te biruie, strig?-l acum, când se n?ruie, valul, deasupra. Tremur?, fir, ?i te bucur?; ropotul iar o s?-nceap?, bol?ile-s negre de ap? neodihnit?.

When my enemies stop hissing, I shall know I'm slipping.

History calls them a defeated people, but the Metis do not feel defeated, and that is what is important. Today, as in the old days, they play their fiddles, sing, dance, and tell their children the old stories. They work hard, as they have always done. They do not mind when they are called Metis, halfbreeds, mixed bloods, Canadians or bois-brules. They know who they are: 'Ka tip aim soot chic' -- the people who own themselves" (40).

Because every time someone finds a new animal, or a new amazing thing on earth, it means we haven't broken everything yet.

You hold no horrors for me

Do you think sixty-five-year-old women don't go to war? We are always at war. Our husbands spent their lives in comfortable chairs. Have we ever sat in comfortable chairs? No. Yoga balls, haunches tensed.

Maybe we're brokenhearted, but why isn't it rational to have a broken heart? It is utter shit out there, the things you can't control. The world is full of wrongs, and mess and distress and horror. Who can really be blamed for wanting to dig their way down and live in a hole, or disappear into a cave and never be around humans again? If all people do is hurt each other?

The world is full of worse than anyone has yet imagined, and there's only so much room.

You are strong enough to sing as you wish, not as your pain has forced to. You aren't your hurt. You're other than that. You are not the broken things you've been.

Wonders have been born before. Sometimes they've been worshipped. There've been new things over and over, and some creatures have fallen groaning to the ground and others have learned to fly.

You are strong enough to sing as you wish, not as your pain has forced you to. You aren't your hurt. You're other than that. You are not the broken things you've been.

I'm this thing that emerged from it, some kind of miserable Phoenix.

But there was no version of my life in which I wasn't getting my ass to Svalbard.

Vertigo, that's where I am. Pi wants to take over, but I don't let it. Looping wants to occur, but I remain sentient, and I don't do any of the various forms of out-freaking I want to do.

Why is she here at Herot Hall, where at any second something bad could come down the mountain, or tunnel up from below? Monsters. There's a whole world filled with monsters. They everywhere

You're still trying to get out of hell, and it's a long climb. You'll think flight may be the answer, but you don't learn to skateboard by watching boys on the half-pipe, and you don't learn to fly by watching boys jump off cliffs, shirtless, skinny, while you hold the car keys.

Love is not this simple thing. Love isn't this obvious thing. It's not about that first moment of knowing. It's about what you keep doing after you break each other's hearts. It's about choosing each other on terrible days as well as on beautiful ones. It's about picking each other up off the floor and then laughing about it later. You can go pretty far into disaster as long as you're willing to look at each other again. You can fix a lot of failures. You can fail as long as you keep trying.

You are strong enough to sing as you wish, not as your pain has forced you to. You aren't your hurt. You're other than that. You are not the broken things you've been. Look at yourself. You're living, not a singer in the midst of her deathsong.

I would not be eaten, nor beaten, no skewered and swimmer I, no drowned dinner for a circle of cold companions, gobbling my guts, glutted on my gold.

Eventually, ecstatic, she outlasted the night.

How many times can you be shattered in the toasting, a champagne flute lifted and listing? How many times will you survive, a woman made of her own history, and more than it? How many times can you put your heart back together? As many times as you need to. You can make it through this.

For a moment, he felt for his old foes, fen-bound, embarking alone.