Quotes About Resilience

When you're alone it's easy to sweat, panic, fall apart …

When you're alone, it's easy to be afraid.

Anyone can love a thing because. That's as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To

I finally let my poor, tortured lute fall silent, remembering something my father had said long ago: 'Songs choose their hour and their own season. When your tune's tin, there is a reason. The tone of a tune is your heart's mettle, and there's no clear water from a muddy well. All you can do is let the silt settle or you'll sound sour as a broken bell.

For without hope what do any of us have?

What more can you expect?" she asked him quietly. "From men who live with demons for their neighbors? Even the best dog will bite that has been kicked enough.

I have been alone for most of my life. But rarely have I felt it so much as at that moment. I knew one person within four hundred miles, and he'd been ordered to keep away from me. I was unfamiliar with the culture, barely competent with the language, and the burning all across my back and face was a constant reminder of how much I was unwelcome. The food was good though.

Keys were hardly known for their complacency, and this one was near howling for a lock.

Only a fool worries over what he can't control. The

Don't put a spoon in your eye over it

It had been treated unkindly in the past, but that didn't make it less lovely underneath.

Oh yes. Fulcrum had broken, but that wasn't wrong. Eggs break. Horses break. Waves break. Of course he broke. How else could someone so all certain-centered let his perfect answers out into the world? Some things were jut too true to stay.

Everything said, you couldn't hope for a nicer day to have a half dozen ex-soldiers with hunting bows relieve you of everything you owned.

sympathy is not for the weak of mind.

Hacía todo lo posible para no pensar en eso. Solo un necio se preocupa por lo que no puede controlar.

The worst had happened, and it hadn't been that bad.

but sympathy is not an art for the weak willed

But at the end of the day,

This isn't the hand of some swooning princess who sits tatting lace and waiting for some prince to save her. This is the hand of a woman who would climb a rope of her own hair to freedom, or kill a captor ogre in his sleep." I looked into her eyes. "And this is the hand of a woman who would have made it through the fire on her own if I hadn't been there. Singed perhaps, but safe.

These were bad memories, but over the years I had brought them out and handled them so often there was hardly a sharp edge left to them. I

Still, it was sulk or sail.

I forced my way through by gritting my teeth and occasionally closing one eye so as not to damage the entirety of my brain.

in the same way that winter was always cold. You complained, took sensible precautions, and got on with the business of living your life.

proud as a kicked cat.