Quotes About Perseverance

Child," she said placing her head to mine and her callused fingers on my cheek, "you can whip it and beat it senseless, you can drag it through the streets and spin on it, you can even dangle it from a tree, drive spikes trough it, and drain the last breath from it, but in the end, no matter what you do, and no matter how hard you try to kill it, love wins.

Gonna be a real frog-strangling turd-floater.

No matter where you go, no matter what happens, what you become, what you gain, what you lose, no matter whether you succeed or fail, stand or fall, no matter what you dip your hands into . . . no gone is too far gone. Son, you can always come home.

Maybe piecing is continual. Maybe the glue takes time to dry. Maybe bones take time to mend. Maybe it's okay that the mess I call me is in process. Maybe it's a long, hard walk out of the crash site. Maybe the distance is different for each of us. Maybe love is bigger than my mess.

Maybe broken is what happens before you become unbroken.

Pain is weakness leaving your body

living with a broken heart is living half dead, and that doesn't mean you're half alive. It means you're half dead. And…that's no way to live.

That we were made to want and give love. That no matter how dark the night, midnight will pass. No darkness, no matter how dark, can hold back the second hand. Whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not, whether you hope it or not, whether you build a wall around your soul and cut out your eyes, wait a few hours and the sun will crack the skyline and the darkness will roll back like a scroll.

I guess sometimes it's got to hurt before it can get better." I nodded. "Hearts are like that.

No matter where you go, no matter whether you succeed or fail, stand or fall, no gone is too far gone. You can always come home.

The mountain between us is the one mountain I cannot climb.

The mango was a mirror image of my last few days. Once beautiful, placed on display for all the world to see, it had been ripped from it's perch, thrown to the ground, rolled in manure and squalor, and left to rot. While that might have bruised it and soiled its skin, it didn't' change it's nature or what it freely offered, for once I peeled it back, an inexplicable sweetness was waiting to be discovered and tasted and consumed.

Broken people just need piecing back together.

Football is not played with strong arms and fast feet, it's played with heart. Grow your heart and your arms and feet will follow... You play long enough and you might find yourself in a place where your arms and feet fail you... That's when you find out what's in your heart.

Here's the truth: No matter what happened on the stage tonight, no matter where you went when you drove out of here, no matter where you end up, no matter what happens, what you become, what you gain, what you lose, whether you succeed or fail, stand or fall, no matter what you dip your hands into...no gone is too far gone. You can always come home. And when you do, you'll find me standing right here, arms wide, eyes searching for your return. I love you.

You unhinged your body from an opium addiction with a book?" She smiled. "Not just any book. A series of thirteen books by one author. I've read them twenty or thirty times each." "You've read one book twenty or thirty times?" "Actually, I've read thirteen books twenty-seven times.

But time does heal. Not like we think it does, not like we would—from the front—but more from the back or side or someplace we can't see it coming. It bubbles up beneath and rises all around.

Dummy #3, the man with the cut Achilles

Hope has a funny way of cracking people down the middle. Cutting through the tough places.

When people become afraid on a soul level, when the terror of their lives has taken up residence in their belly, it becomes the wall behind which they sequester themselves. The only way through is to tunnel under. Meet them inside their perimeter. Problem is, the depth of their pain determines the thickness of the wall.

a glimmer of hope return from somewhere deep, rising like a phoenix out of the ashes of defeat and impossibility. In a whisper I was accustomed to, she said "Thank you" and

sometimes it's hard to see what could be, what we hope for, through the hurting part of what is, 'cause sometimes stuff hurts so much that we can't see nothing. But then sometimes what we hope for, well, seems like if we hope it long enough, hard enough, deep enough, it becomes what it.

I guess sometimes it's got to hurt before it can get better." I nodded. "Hearts are like that.

Kids are like a spring, or a Stretch Armstrong. No matter how many times they're passed around, passed off, and passed on . . . they snap back." He spit through his window. "Hope . . . it's the fuel that feeds them." He shook his head and spit something off the end of his tongue. "God forbid the day they stop eating it.