Quotes About Survival

Lucy was frightened, frightened near to death. Her voice choked, she could not breath, her limbs went numb. This is not happening, she said to herself as the men forced her down; it is just a dream, a nightmare. While the men, for their part, drank up her fear, revelled in it, did all they could to hurt her, to menace her, to heighten her terror. Call your dogs! they said to her. Go on, call your dogs! No dogs? Then let us show you dogs!

You will believe me when I say the life we lead grows less and less distinct from the life we led of Cruso's island. Sometimes I wake up not knowing where I am. The world is full of islands, said Cruso once. His words ring truer every day.

Durante el día empujaba la carreta por la vecindad; por la noche dormía bajo los viaductos, detrás de los setos, en callejones.

The stories they tell will be different from the stories I heard in the camp, because the camp was for those left behind, the women and children, the old men, the blind, the crippled, the idiots, people who have nothing to tell but stories of how they have endured. Whereas these young men have had adventures, victories and defeats and escapes. They will have stories to tell long after the war is over, stories for a lifetime, stories for their grandchildren to listen to open-mouthed.

Empire dooms itself to live in history and plot against history. One thought alone preoccupies the submerged mind of Empire: how not to end, how not to die, how to prolong its era. By day it pursues its enemies. It is cunning and ruthless, it sends its bloodhounds everywhere. By night it feeds on images of disaster: the sack of cities, the rape of populations, pyramids of bones, acers of desolation.

You are like a stick insect, Michaels, whose sole defence against a universe of predators is its bizarre shape. You are like a stick insect that has landed, God knows how, in the middle of a great wide flat bare concrete plain. You raise your slow fragile stick-legs one at a time, you inch about looking for something to merge with, and there is nothing. Why did you ever leave the bushes, Michaels?

No, you've got it all wrong, John. Reading his emotions, she shook her head. You're not half the male you could be because of what was done to you. You're twice what anyone else is because you survived.

Fuckin' A... hope didn't so much spring eternal as it drowned out common sense and self-preservation.

What happened to you? she asked. I got hit in the side. With what? A knife.

You almost died tonight , he wanted to say. You dumb son of a bitch, you nearly died ... and then what would we have done? And not "we" as in the Brotherhood. Not even "we" as in he and John. More like … "me".

You're not half the male you could be because of what was done to you. You're twice what anyone else is because you survived.

Stop it. Do not feel safe with him. The Stockholm Syndrome is not your friend.

You know, Qhuinn's an interesting character. Saxton reached out with an elegant hand and picked up his port. He's one of my favorite cousins, actually. His nonconformity is admirable and he's survived things that would crush a lesser male. Don't know that being in love with him would be easy, however. Blay didn't go near that one. So do you come here often? Saxton laughed, his pale eyes glinting, Not for discussion, huh.

If I can live through the events," she said, "I can get through the memories.

You will not live through this if she does not

Wow, she breathed. I know, right? Hung like a horse. If you're really nice-and you live through this-I'll promise not to tell V. About my size. She laughed a little, No, that you assumed I'd look at you in any fashion other than professionally.

Rule number four for me as a writer? Plotlines are like sharks: They either keep moving or they die. ~J.R. Ward

You and I are not going to survive long term, regardless of love or bonding, if you keep airbrushing things. If I keep airbrushing things. It's not a good strategy for us—and if this makes you feel like you're on the spot? As if I'm giving you an ultimatum? I don't care. If anything gets in the way of our relationship, anything, I will mow that shit down—even if it is you.

That cat was a traitor. And if by some miracle she lived through the night, he was getting downgraded to Tender Vitals.

Sometimes what we do to survive…is harder than what we do when we die.

She felt sorry for the female who had been driven to such traits. Who had kept herself apart from all emotions. The female had been born under a curse. The female had done evil and had evil done unto her. The female had hardened herself, her mind and her emotions becoming steel. The female had been wrong about that locking down, that self-containment. It was not a case of strength, as she always told herself. It was strictly survival...

Ivie froze at the sound of the deep, low voice. Later, much later, she would remember most clearly not the moment she looked into his eyes, but rather the split second before she did. And that was because, when you were falling from a great distance, spinning and turning in mid-air, uncertain of your chances of surviving the landing, the thing that was even more vivid than when you hit was the last moment before consequence owned you.

She was a mahmen. She was a lover. She was a proud female, a strong female, a female who knew right from wrong, family from stranger, good from evil. She had lived through two birthings and stood up to a Brother just now, and she would take on the King if she had to. She was fallible and could get confused and might well flounder from time to time. But she would survive. That was what the strong did.

Dear God. Her eyes didn't match the gentle lilt of her voice at all. They belonged to a warrior. Gunmetal gray, surrounded by lashes the color of her hair, they were grave, serious, reminding him of males who had fought and survived battle. They were staggeringly beautiful in their strength.