Quotes About Resilience

Peter Drucker once noted that "no institution can possibly survive if it needs geniuses or supermen to manage it. It must be organized in such a way as to be able to get along under the leadership of perfectly normal human beings." Warren Buffet made the same point more pithily: "I only invest in companies which any fool can run, because some day some fool will run it.

I come from hardworking, determined people on both sides of my family... the kind who live with a hard reality from which much strength comes.

When you lose someone, they take a bigger place in your heart, not a smaller one. Every day it grows, because you don't stop loving them. You wish you could talk to them. You need their advice. But life doesn't always give us what we need, and it's difficult.

Life, Enza decided, is not about what you get, but what is taken from you. It's in the things we lose that we discover what we most treasure.

My state of being. Well, I'd gone from pissed off, lonely, sad, frightened, and depressed, to being a little wiser, a little stronger, a little more resilient. I'd survived.

And dinnae be afraid to fail. The only way to learn anything in life is to try and fail, then continue trying until ye succeed.

Why is it that an insult stays with you forever, whereas love and praise passes through you like water through a sieve?

You can't get past pain without going through it,

Living hell is the best revenge.

Not only is life a bitch, it has puppies.

It's like getting the best Christmas gift ever, but Santa decided to kick the crap out of you before you unwrapped it.

A thinking woman sleeps with monsters.The beak that grips her, she becomes.

I came to see the damage that was doneand the treasures that prevail.I stroke the beam of my lampslowly along the flankof something more permanentthan fish or weed.

These scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

You touched me in places so deep I wanted to ignore you.

I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes...are maps...I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail

This is what I am: watching the spider rebuild - "patiently", they say, but I recognise in her impatience - my own- the passion to make and make again where such unmaking reigns the refusal to be a victim we have lived with violence so long Am I to go on saying for myself, for her This is my body, take it and destroy it?

When I try to speak my throat is cut and, it seems, by his hand The sounds I make are prehuman, radical the telephone is always ripped-out and he sleeps on Yet always the tissue grows over, white as silk hardly a blemish maybe a hieroglyph for scream Child, no wonder you never wholly trusted your keepers

Things take us hard, no question. How do you make it, all the way from here to morning? I touch you, made of such nerve and flare and pride and swallowed tears. Go home. Come to bed. The skies look in at us, stern. And this is an old story.

The problem, unstated until now, is how to live in a damaged body in a world where pain is meant to be gagged uncured ungrieved over. The problem is to connect, without hysteria, the pain of anyone's body with the pain of the world's body.

I know you are reading this poem in a room where too much has happened for you to bear where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed and the open valise speaks of flight but you cannot leave yet.

I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail.

When you falter, all eludes. This is a seasick way, this almost/never touching, this drawing-off, this to-and-fro. Subtlety stalks in your eyes, your tongue knows what it knows. I want your secrets - I will have them out. Seasick, I drop into the sea.

When we discover that someone we trusted can be trusted no longer, it forces us to reexamine the universe, to question the whole instinct and concept of trust. For a while, we are thrust back onto some bleak, jutting ledge, in a dark pierced by sheets of fire, swept by sheets of rain, in a world before kinship, or naming, or tenderness exist; we are brought close to formlessness.