Quotes About Survival

I survived many a youth hostel bunk room reading Tolstoy by flashlight.

Tom Browkaw said it best. He said NBC could survive without him or the rest of the news division, but not Nancy Fields.

But the more isolated people are—the less sense of community and responsibility for one another they feel—the more they turn to money for their comfort and survival.

The entire time I was in the camp it was as if I had a double personality. My real self seemed to be observing what was happening to my physical self.

No. I can survive well enough on my own— if given the proper reading material.

No one survives life.

I thought I'd die of it, but I didn't die. You can learn to eat violence. There is pleasure in not resisting. I dedicated myself to teaching my bully just how much a person can consume.

Depression doesn't just steal the depressed person's capacity for joy. It throws its mantle over everything he has ever done and everything he could ever do. The depressed person dies not to save himself from the world but to save the world from himself. In this case the word depression makes clear sense; he is pressed down, forever.

What fails to kill me will kill me eventually.

It's a very romantic sentiment, but to think that you would die if you didn't write, well, I would definitely choose to not write and live.

If he was wood, he was a flail, and I was grain on the threshing floor. I was a thousand grains, my thoughts blown like chaff. All that was left was the taste of salt.

There were so many lies, all of them precious, all of them necessary.

The spikes above Livergate were a cruel reminder that his life now depended on mine, and it was by no means a foregone conclusion that I would live to see sunset tomorrow.

I ride behind the dog out of the city; the city of burning, the city of ghosts. When the gatemouth has shrunk behind us, the dog stops and come back and ties my hands to the saddle. Then we ride again. I don't know how long we ride. Everything hurts, and the city is screaming behind me.

There's not supposed to be anything left after the end of the world, even if the end of the world doesn't quite happen.

How easily we read each other when we're out for blood.

Up until today she'd felt as if she was surviving. Now she felt as though she was living. Everything was different.

The unfit die -- the fit both live and thrive. Alas, who say so They who do survive.

Sasha's fear was what kept her moving. All while she chanted in her head. Run. Don't look back. Run. Don't get caught.

I focused on the passing houses filled with couples who'd somehow survived this teenage craziness of 'he likes her but she likes him and he likes somebody else, you just can't win.' How did they do it? How did they end up in their golden, warm and cozy living rooms with their 2.3 children and dogs and cats? Because getting from where I was to where they were seemed millions of light years away.

We see what a punishing business it is, simply being alive.

Bullets sound like hornets when they pass too close to your head. After a while, the world closes down. You can't hear much, you can't see much, just the way ahead, the next slat, the next open gate. All you know is running; the only place that's real is away.

They don't know how hard they are working or how much of their energy is going into just surviving. They don't know that living is not supposed to be that hard. Too often, like the frog, by the time they discover this is not the way it's supposed to be they're already depleted, depressed, or overwhelmed.

Bertolt Brecht's observation in The Threepenny Opera that eating takes precedence over morality. Emerging