Quotes About Perseverance

Hope doesn't announce that life is safe, therefore, we will be; instead, it whispers that Christ is our safety in the midst of harsh reality.

There are still days I need a hand-up from another journeyer. And there are still days I want to hide, since every season of life brings its set of threats, yet because of God's mercy and grace, I press on.

Many of us are metaphorically standing in a ring of fire. The assaults of life have pushed us through a wall of fire and here we are, standing in the middle of a circle of flames. The conundrum we face in the circle is: would we rather spend the rest of our lives very uncomfortable, hot and singed, or do we have the courage to walk through the wall of flames again, experiencing a short burning sensation, to freedom from fire? The benefits of being

And as far as false hope, there is no such thing. There is only hope or the absence of hope-nothing else.

Out of all the piles of dirt, garbage, and shit we have been handed, we can grow a patch of daisies.

All I can tell you really is if you get to the point where someone is telling you that you are not great or not good enough, just follow your heart and don't let anybody crush your dream.

I haven't stopped looking for the good in people. I've just accepted the fact that I'm not always going to find it.

When you hit a wall, just kick it in.

This is what I know - Sam is dead. My brother is dead. My mother is dead. My father is dead. My husband is dead. My cat is dead. My dog, who was dead in 1957, is still dead. Yet still I keep thinking that something wonderful is about to happen. Maybe tomorrow.

I knew if I lived long enough I would be poet laureate of something.

Your work, coming from a fluid source, can be traced to the naked song of your youth. You spoke then of holding hands with God. Remember, through everything, you have always held that hand, grip it hard, Robert, and don't let go. (letter to Robert Mapplethorpe, 1970)

Sometimes you're doing really well, then, after three or four years, everything inexplicably crashes like a house of cards and you have to rebuild it. It's not like you get to a point where you're all right for the rest of your life.

He tried everything from science to voodoo, everything buy prayer. That, at least, I could give him in abundance. I prayed ceaselessly for him, a desperate human prayer. Not for his life, no one could take that cup from him, but for the strength to endure the unendurable.

I wiped the shit from my shoes again and again, still going about my business, that of being alive, the best I could.

But we keep on going, he continued, fostering all kinds of crazy hopes. To redeem the lost, some sliver of personal revelation. It's an addiction, like playing the slots, or a game of golf.

I commenced with my chores, whistling an oft-forgotten tune, certain that we, as the seasons, prevail and that ten thousand years is yet a blink in the eye of a ringed planet or that of an archangel armed with a sword of glass.

I wasn't worried, though. I just needed a break and I wasn't going to give up.

I had to learn, really, how to rein in my energies and discipline myself. And I found it very very useful. I rebelled against it at first, but it's a good thing to have.

I had to keep swatting flies away, but that didn't bother me. Nothing bothered me, not even the things that bothered me.

All writers are bums...

Then there are the scores of notebooks, their contents calling — confession, revelation, endless variations of the same paragraph — and piles of napkins scrawled with incomprehensible rants. Dried-out ink bottles, encrusted nibs, cartridges for pens long gone, mechanical pencils emptied of lead. Writer's debris.

Se você bater no muro, não pare.

We weathered all things, large and small, with the same vigor.

The idea of redemption is always good news, even if it means sacrifice or some difficult times.