Quotes About Survival

We each survive our own way.

my feet. Because of you, I can survive. I hope

I've been in-country a day and here's what I think: I'm going to die over here.

Once, a lifetime ago, she had worried about girls, only a few years older than her, who had gone missing. The stories had given her nightmares at thirteen. Now she knew there were a hundred ways to be lost and even more ways to be found.

She heard the name. At first it meant nothing to her, just another sound. Then she remembered. She'd been Juliette. And Isabelle before that. And the Nightingale. Not just F-5491.

But she knew how dangerous escape could be. Survival took grit and courage and effort. It was too easy to give in.

If we weren't here—hiding in a safe house—if the world weren't ripping itself apart, if this was just an ordinary day in an ordinary world, would you want there to be an us, Gaëtan?

Vianne sabía que Rachel no le estaba preguntando cómo esconderse en el granero, sino cómo podía seguir viviendo después de una pérdida así, cómo podía coger a un hijo y dejar marchar al otro, cómo podía seguir respirando después de haber susurrado «adiós».

guns, gas masks, arrows, ammunition. We're ready.

Survival took grit and courage and effort.

instead of the last stop for desperate

Whose Names Are Unknown

My room is lined with books, most of them stacked in precarious piles on the bowing bookshelves Louis assembled years ago. They are filled with other people's stories, and I've spent my life disappearing into them. Sometimes, when the nights are dark and silent and I'm alone, I wonder if I would have survived without the escape their pages offered me from reality. Then again, perhaps they just gave me an excuse to duck out of my own life.

People should always help others in need; there was no other way for the human race to survive.

Let's not forget the past. Let's not forget the heroes who fought so that others could survive. Let's not forget to be kind to our fellow man. Be nice if at all possible.

Still, hope was a dangerous thing. It grew like a field of wildflowers within Eva, blossoming in all the spaces that had been filled with darkness and despair, until she began to believe with all her heart in the possibility that Rémy might have lived through the war after all.

They are erasing us, and we are helping them. "Because someone should remember. How else will they find their way home?

Where? Where did he go?" "East." Eva took a deep breath. "To a work camp called Auschwitz. In Poland." "But that's impossible. He was taken less than a week ago. And we live in France, Eva. This doesn't happen in France." "I'm afraid it does." Eva could see the crush of people penned up at Drancy each time she closed her eyes. "But we left Poland. We—we are French." "We are Jews.

In the spring, tattered and emaciated Jews who had spent the war in the concentration camps to the east had begun to return. Those who had lost family members peered into the faces of these walking skeletons, struggling to find the people they were so sure they'd never see again. Sometimes, there were joyous reunions. Mostly, though, the survivors returned to find that everyone they loved had perished and that their reward for enduring hell was a renewed sense of loss and despair.

She wished she could grab the memories like lifelines and hold on before she went under. But she found them slippery, impossible to grasp.

She had hunted animals. She had been hunted by animals. But the thought of humans hunting humans—it was difficult for her to understand, and it made her feel ill.

It wasn't quite the death of hope—part of her still hoped that Coop was alive somewhere. It was more like the application of hope. She wanted to make sure that no one else—child, adult, crew member, captain—would ever lose a loved one to foldspace again. It was probably a vain hope. But it would keep her going, for at least another forty years.

Out of the Dust is a story about a lanky piano-playing girl named Billie Jo whose mother is gone, whose father's heart and soul are disappearing into the dust that blankets their Oklahoma town, and even though the first 59 pages rain down hard on you, when you get to page 60 the monsoon comes and the book is unputdownable.

Survival and victory were simple questions of strength, cunning, and will.