Quotes About Courage

We thought we were being mature when we were only being safe. We imagined we were being responsible but were only being cowardly. What we called realism turned out to be a way of avoiding things rather than facing them.

The ability to see and examine himself; the ability to make moral decisions and act on them; the mental and physical courage of his suicide. "He took his own life" is the phrase; but Adrian also took charge of his own life, he took command of it, he took it in his hands—and then out of them. How few of us—we that remain—can say that we have done the same? We muddle along, we let life happen to us, we gradually build up a store of memories.

Fearless to the strong; humble to the weak

Cheer up! Death is round the corner.

you begin lying to her. Why? Something to do with the need to create some internal space which you could keep intact—and where you could yourself remain intact. And this is how it is for you now. Love and truth—where have they gone? You ask yourself: Is staying with her an act of courage on your part, or an act of cowardice? Perhaps both? Or is it just an inevitability?

there was a sense in which he had no choice. He couldn't live with Susan; he couldn't establish a separate life away from her; therefore he went back to live with her. Courage or cowardice? Or mere inevitability?

The more you learn, the less you fear. 'Learn' not in the sense of academic study, but in the practical understanding of life.

And while he was tormenting himself, here was a question he would often arrive at when his mind followed a particular trail of memory. Handing back Susan had been an act of self-protection on his part. There was no doubt about that; and no doubt in his mind that he had to do it. But beyond this, was it an act of courage, or of cowardice? And if he couldn't decide, perhaps the answer was: both.

The more you learn, the less you fear.

Gentlemen, Admiral Lord Nelson wrote, of the officers aft on the quarterdeck and the seamen of the fo'c'sle: 'Aft the most honour—forward the better man!'" The

You're a hero here.' 'I don't want to be a hero.' 'What do you want?' 'I want to be a leader.

She] knows that it's fear that keeps her love in check. but what if falling in love i a sign not of weakness but of courage? what if it isnt falling or crashing but taking a leap?

She] knows that it's fear that keeps her love in check. But what if falling in love is a sign not of weakness but of courage? What if it isnt falling or crashing but taking a leap?

And I served as an officer in the army." "Very impressive. I've been told that war is boredom interspersed with violence and terror.

Sometimes, the only way out of the fire is through the fire, m'boy.

And as she looked back at him, she felt the serrated edges of her heart in her chest. But also a sort of dizzying vastness: she could face anything now.

She didn't usually mind being just a bit in over her head. She generally flailed like a becalmed ship, irritable and purposeless and panicked, when things were simple.

Oh, I'm bowed, but unbroken.

I should not, if I were you, wish to be, because 'sterner stuff' is usually forged by hardship.

The way to achieve the impossible is to simply do it as if it were the most possible thing in the world.

He wanted to be a man she admired. The way he admired her. He wanted her to think of him as brave. He wanted to be better because of her, and for her. He was better because of her. She'd changed him irrevocably.

It's just that no one can completely take care of themselves. Not even me, and I have a freaking black belt in karate. It's not a man versus woman thing. It's a 'let somebody care about you thing.' And sometimes that takes more guts and sense than taking on the whole damn world by yourself.

She suspected she looked upon greatness for the first time in the form of a dusty, weary, rueful vicar, who did things like hold the hand of an old woman as she breathed her last breath and throw his fist into the jaw of a man who slurred her questionable honor and came in the dead of night to sit by the bed of her maid.

Love.' What a wilderness of pain, of yearning, of loss could be contained in that word. Patient and kind nonsense, is how Lady Fennimore had put it. Love wasn't for cowards; he wondered if it was for the wise. He supposed love itself made you stupid at first, or no one, no one would ever fall in love at all.