Quotes About Resilience

and keep tapping you on the shoulder.

that easy Irishry that shrugs its shoulders at the practical world and goes on down the road in the cool of an evening whistling a tune.

can see the way she's hoping so hard that this might be the time, this might be Help Coming. She's hoping and trying not to hope at the same time. And that's the saddest thing. Hope may or may not be a Thing with Feathers. But it's definitely a Thing with Claws.

I lay blinking in the chastened light as the world condensed to two certainties, one, the jelly of my brain had swollen too large for my skull, the other, I would never again drink alcohol.

It's hard to live on hope. Living on hope you get thin and tired. Hope pares you away from the inside. You're all the time living in the future. In the future things will be better, you hope, and you'll feel better and you won't wake up feeling like someone has been taking the life out of you drip by drip while you slept.

My hope has a small h.

All these squalls to which we have been subjected are signs that the weather will soon improve and things will go well for us, because it is not possible for the bad or the good to endure forever, and from this it follows that since the

She'd rather break her own heart than have it broken.

Hope may or may not be a Thing with Feathers. But it's definitely a Thing with Claws.

Women carry on. They endure the way old ships do, breasting into outrageous waters, ache and creak, hull holed and decks awash, yet find anchorage in the ordinary, in tables to be wiped down, pots to scrub, and endless ashes to be put out.

The fact is, I did not appreciate until much later in my own life what subterfuge and sacrifice it took to be independent and undefeated by the pressures of reality.

I feel so completely crazy sometimes. I don't know which way I'm facing. All I can do is just shove all this shit to the side and try to move forward.

It was like being in a car with the gas pedal slammed down to the floor and nothing to do but hold on and pretend to have some semblance of control. But control was something I'd lost a long time ago.

We go out into this fucked up world together.

The thing is, though, every time I think I'm just gonna give up—that I can't possibly do it, that I'm just going to curl up alone somewhere and waste away, well, I always keep trying. I mean, for some reason I manage to make it through another day and then another day after that.

Again, fix the outsides and maybe my insides won't be such a dark place.

I buried it and buried it and turned away from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that goodness is there, inside---it must be. "Every day, in every way, It's getting better and better…" I let those words fall, wanting---wanting so bad to believe them.

It was that simple. I just forgot for a second how bad things had been. A disease of amnesia, right?

Yo no me pongo triste fácilmente Para serles sincero Hasta las calaveras me dan risa.

And how do you undo damage that's been built into the foundations? With houses, it's easier to pull the whole thing down and start again. You can't do that with people.

It made me realize how unimaginative I had always been about battered wives. Disaster creeps up, a tidal wave on the tourist beach. By the time you can see it, you are powerless or unable to resist it and it rolls you up and away.

If you behave as if you are all right, then one day you will be. You have to go through the motions of surviving in order to survive.

Maybe I don't want it to pass because that would mean an acceptance that life is like this: just a gradual process of loss.

It's what the loss uncovers in you that brings on despair, not the loss itself.