Quotes About Struggle

You can repudiate DESTINY all you want but in the end it wins.

Enjoy the war,' read the graffiti left on Berlin's walls. 'The peace will be terrible.

This concludes the story of my youth, Your Honor. I hope that you can see that I have been swayed since my birth by forces that are poorly countered with reason.

The director's task is to recreate life, its movement, its contradictions, its dynamic and conflicts. It is his duty to reveal every iota of the truth he has seen, even if not everyone finds that truth acceptable. Of course an artist can lose his way, but even his mistakes are interesting provided they are sincere. For they represent the reality of his inner life, of the peregrinations and struggle into which the external world has thrown him.

Man is born unto the trouble as the sparks fly upwards.' In other words suffering is germane to our existence; indeed, how without it, should we be able to 'fly upwards

there is a certain freedom to being totally f#cked...

Nothing is given to man on earth - struggle is built into the nature of life, and conflict is possible - the hero is the man who lets no obstacle prevent him from pursuing the values he has chosen.

For the first time in history, the rational and the good are fully armed in the battle against evil. Here we finally find the answer to our paradox; now we can understand the nature of the social power held by evil. Ultimately, the evil, the irrational, truly has no power. The evil men's control of morality is transient; it lives on borrowed time made possible only by the errors of the good. In time, as more honest men grasp the truth, evil's stranglehold will be easily broken.

Down these mean crates a man must dig." page 41.

Alexander (at the trial of Philotas): How much happier to have fallen in the fighting, felled by a foe, rather than die by a countryman's blow! Now, preserved from the only perils that I feared, I am beset by threats that should never have appeared.

Alexander was no longer so much the master of his lust, having been fawned upon by Fortune, whom mortal men too little distrust.

But Jordan's violin was especially deadly. It screeched like a frightened owl. Mr. Graisha glared at her, snapping his baton up and down, side to side, fighting to keep all twenty-three students playing in unison. It was a losing battle. He glanced up at the clock and then waved both arms as if he needed to stop a freight train.

Real life is so…messy.

But if the messiness makes me feel like this, then it's worth it, right?

Almost all the ideas we have about being a man or being a woman are so burdened with pain, anxiety, fear and self-doubt. For many of us, the confusion around this question is excruciating.

There was never a war on poverty. Maybe there was a skirmish on poverty.

You'll swoop from incredible highs when you're just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you've accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent

All history is just one man trying to take something away from another man, and usually it doesn't really belong to either of them.

Only a man unable to handle the actual world would create another one in which to hide.

There I lay, wearing dead people as armor against death.

If you're going through hell, keep going [as stolen from Winston S. Churchill]

My words were Egyptian hieroglyphics before the discovery of the Rosetta stone; my words were wounded soldiers limping home, guns spent, from a lost battle; my words were dying fish, flipping hysterically as the net is opened and the pile spreads across the boat deck like a slippery mountain trying to become a prairie. My words were, and are, unworthy of Marianne Engel.

She kissed me on my thin lips and all my words were pushed back into my mouth. "I don't want to die," she whispered, "but I need to lose the shackles of this multitude of hearts.

There's a gentle sigh which descends like billowing silk upon the soul that accepts its coming death. It's a gentle pocket of air in the turbulence of everyday life... the silk settles around you as if it has been drifting towards the earth forever and has finally found it's target. The flag of defeat has been mercifully dropped and, in this action, the loss is not so bad. Defeat itself is defeated by the embrace of defeat, and death is swallowed up in victory.