Quotes About Resilience

It got worse still as time went on because people did not sympathize with you any more. They couldn't do enough for you at first, and that helped, and then they got bored with your troubles. But your troubles went on just the same and you had to bear them alone.

Those who have deeply suffered in some particular way are welded together in an understanding incomprehensible to those who have not so suffered.

There always comes, I think, a sort of peak in suffering at which either you win over your pain or your pain wins over you, according as to whether you can, or cannot, call up that extra ounce of endurance that helps you to break through the circle of yourself and do the hitherto impossible. That extra ounce carries you through 'le dernier quart d' heure.' Psychologist have a name for it, I believe. Christians call it the Grace of God.

Largely, now, it was not anger he felt, but rather a kind of bone-scraping, quiet, ever-present sorrow. To come to the place that was supposed to stay the same, to come and find it changed. Dr. Miller had warned him against what he called the 'geographic cure.' You can't fix yourself by going somewhere else, he'd said. You'll always take yourself along.

Je n'ai jamais cessé, tout au long de ma vie, de rechercher l'aide d'un homme. Je l'ai trouvée souvent et, plus souvent encore, elle m'a fait défaut.

Second, and far more important: tuck your chin. You're going to get hurt, so expect it and be ready. You may as well see it coming.

Don't panic. Panic will kill you when nothing else wants to.

You cannot see the beauty without facing the darkness. Remember this.

Panic will kill you, even when nothing else wants to.

Each time it was like a stray bit of glass pressed into the softness of her heart, grinding, grinding, oh so silently until she no longer noticed when she bled.

She was already in his palace, in his life. He couldn't go back--and wouldn't even if he could. She was so close to him now that it was as if he held her in his palm like a glowing ember--and gave thanks for the pain even as he inhaled the smoke from his burning flesh.

To fight demons, one must assume the guise of a demon

one can't live without falling now and again.

She couldn't very well get up and leave him without causing a scene, but she dearly wanted to. "Well, then, in the interests of fairness, perhaps you ought to know, Your Grace, that I have no intention of yielding the field to you." Beside her he inclined his head a fraction of an inch. "Then en garde, Miss Greaves.

She watched his chest rise and fall and remembered and reflected. All her life things had been taken from her: Apollo, Thomas's affection, Mama and Papa, her home, her future. No one had ever asked her opinion, garnered her thoughts on what she wanted or needed. Things had been done to her, but she'd never had the chance to do things. Like a doll on a shelf, she'd been moved about, manipulated, flung aside.

I don't want you hurt," he said gruffly. "I know." Her smile was winsome. "But falling isn't the end of the world. I may fall, it's true—in fact, I probably will fall—but really, one can't live without falling now and again.

This was not a man to be swayed by gentleness, beauty, or sweet words. He would bend—assuming he was even capable of bending—only for reasons of his own.

She glanced at the man quickly. "Thank you." She meant to say more, but something was caught in her throat. Her eyes stung. "Weep not, proud Diana," Maximus murmured. "The moon will not allow it." "No." She agreed, swiping fiercely at her cheeks. "There's no need for tears yet.

At first she saw only the mess of roots. There wasn't space in there, surely, for a small dog, let alone a man and boy. But as she watched, a huge hand slapped down on the edge. She started for the hole even as Caliban emerged, head and broad shoulders blackened, clutching Indio to his chest like Hephaestus rising from his underworld forge. She'd never seen such a wonderful sight.

Pay heed: the artichoke is a shy vegetable. She covers herself in spine-tipped leaves that must be carefully peeled away, and underneath shields her treasure with a barricade o' soft needles. They must be tenderly, but firmly, scraped aside. Ye must be bold, for if yer not, she'll never reveal her soft heart.

When he died, she took her hopes for a child and wrapped them carefully in a box and buried that box deep, deep in her heart. So deep, she thought never to face that dream again. Except, with one sentence, Edward had exhumed the box and ripped it open. And her hopes, her dreams, her need to bear a child were as fresh now as they had been when she was newly wed.

Oh, yes. I suppose not many remember now, but Maximus was so shattered by the deaths of his parents that he went mute for a full fortnight. Why, some of the quacks that came to look at him said his brain was addled by the tragedy. That he'd never speak again. Rubbish, of course. It simply took him time to come to rights again. He was quite sane. Just a sensitive boy." A boy who, when he came to himself again, was no longer a boy but the Duke of Wakefield, Artemis thought.

He had no money or influence here. The clothes on his back were ragged, his moccasins were worn, and he was skeletally thin from lack of food and walking. But he would sail on a ship bound for England even if he had to scrub the decks to pay his way. He was Reynaud St. Aubyn, the Viscount of Hope, and by God or the devil, he was going home.

A man makes many a mistake in his life, some small and inconsequential, some that change the course of everything. The trick is leaving it behind you and going on anyway. Because if you become stuck in the past, in things that can't ever be changed, well then, you're done for.