Quotes About Courage

We held hands when we walked down the gingerbread path into the forest, blood dripping from our fingers. We danced with witches and kissed monsters. We turned us into wintergirls, when she tried to leave, I pulled her back into the snow because I was afraid to be alone.

Life is for the living. Don't let the fear of striking out let you from keep you from playing the game.

A scar is a sign of strength. . .the sign of a survivor.

She offered herself to the big, bad wolf and didn't scream when he took the first bite.

She cannot chain my soul. Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so...I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her.

There's no point in asking why, even though everybody will. I know why. The harder question is why not? I can't believe she ran out of answers before I did.

Don't expect to make a difference unless you speak up for yourself.

There is no safer. There's not even safe, never has been.

I won the wintergirl trip over the border into dangerland.

When you're alive, people can hurt you. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out. But it's a lie.

I swallowed the fear. It's always there– fear– and if you don't stay on top of it, you'll drown. I swallowed again and stood tall, shoulders broad, arms loose. I was balanced, ready to move. My body said, "Yeah, you're bigger and stronger, but if you touch this, I will hurt you.

This is not our fight', the old man said. 'British or American, that is not the choice. You must choose your own side, find your road through the valley of darkness that will lead you to the river Jordan. . . Look hard for your river Jordan, my child. You'll find it.

The school board banned one of Maya Angelou's books, so the librarian had to take down her poster. I fished it out of the trash. She must be a great writer if the school board is scared of her.

be aggressive, BE-BE Aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E

Yes it is, because you can only be brave if you're scared.

I stand in the center aisle of the auditorium, a wounded zebra in a National Geographic special, looking for someone, anyone to sit next to. A predator approaches: gray jock buzz cut, whistle around a neck thicker than his head. Probably a social studies teacher, hired to coach a blood sport.

The bruises are vivid, but they will fade.

I am almost a real girl the entire drive home. I went to a diner. I drank hot chocolate and ate french fries. Talked to a guy for a while. Laughed a couple of times. A little like ice-skating for the first time, wobbly, but I did it.

IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding. Andy Evans raped me in August when I was drunk and too young to know what was happening. It wasn't my fault. He hurt me. It wasn't my fault. And I'm not going to let it kill me. I can grow.

She cannot chain my soul. Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so. But what was one more beating? A flogging, even? I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could no longer harm Ruth, and she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her. This was a new notion to me and a curious one.

The time has come to arm-wrestle some demons.

My only choice was to fight my way out, even if I didn't think I would make it.

And that's the problem. When you're alive, people can hurt you. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out. But it's a lie.

If an entire nation could seek its freedom, why not a girl?