Quotes About Struggle

condenada suerte, se dijo mordiéndose el labio inferior mientras cerraba la puerta tras de, sí,——la de un hombre que ha ideado una de las mejores cadenas de razonamiento del mundo—y tiene al mismo tiempo una mujer con una cabeza tan dura que es imposible hacer entrar en ella una sola inferencia, aunque la salvación o destrucción de su propia alma esté en juego!

Life is never smooth to the great-granddaughter of tin peddlers who were kicked out of Russia,' said Misty. 'It's no accident that all my family is in one embattled profession or another. We're just waiting for the Cossacks to come back. When the Cossacks come to Connecticut, you'll understand.' Meanwhile, it was hard to feel much gloom at all, although to keep her balance, Misty clung to it wherever she found it.

My world is falling apart.

King Boris is going to meet us with his train, which he actually drives himself. What hard times some of these little kings have fallen upon.

The only people don't suffer those are the ones who never do anything

I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don't want to die. I want to eat like a normal person eats, but I need to see my bones or I will hate myself even more and I might cut my heart out or take every pill that was ever made.

I lift my arm out of the water. It's a log. Put it back under and it blows up even bigger. People see the log and call it a twig. They yell at me because I can't see what they see. Nobody can explain to me why my eyes work different than theirs. Nobody can make it stop.

Smoke gunpowder and go to school to jump through hoops, sit up and beg, and roll over on command. Listen to the whispers that curl into your head at night, calling you ugly and fat and stupid and bitch and whore and worst of all a disappointment. Puke and starve and cut and drink because you don't want to feel any of this.

The stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking didn't make her skinny, it made her cry.

Everybody told me to be a man. Nobody told me how.

This girl shivers and crawls under the covers with all her clothes on and falls into an overdue library book, a faerie story with rats and marrow and burning curses. The sentences build a fence around her, a Times Roman 10-point barricade, to keep the thorny voices in her head from getting too close.

Here stands a girl clutching a knife. There is grease on the stove, blood in the air, and angry words piled in the corners. We are trained not to see it, not to see any of it. . . . Someone just ripped off my eyelids.

I wish I had cancer. I will burn in hell for that, but it's true.

You're not dead, but you're not alive, either. You're a wintergirl.

You hurt her by starving yourself, you hurt her with your lies, and by fighting everybody who tries to help you. Emma can only sleep a couple of hours a night now. She's haunted by nightmares of monsters that eat our whole family. They eat us slowly, she says, so we can feel their sharp teeth.

Cutting pain was a different flavor of hurt. It made it easier not to think about having my body and my family and my life stolen, made it easier not to care... -Wintergirls

I was good at digging holes. It was the rest of life I sucked at.

Why bother trying? What was the point? So I could go to some suck-ass college, get a diploma, march out into a job that I hated, marry a pretty girl who would want to divorce me, but then she wouldn't because we'd have kids, so instead she'd be the angry woman at the other end of the kitchen table, and the kids would grow up watching this, until one day I'd look at my son and he'd look just like that face in the bathroom mirror? If that was life, then it was twisted.

Puke and starve and cut and drink because you don't want to feel any of this. Puke and starve and cut and drink because you need an anesthetic and it works. For awhile. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it's to late because you are maintaining it now,straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can't stop.

I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don't want to die.

I am locked into the mirror and there is no door out.

You're the one who doesn't understand, I've been standing on the edge with you for years.

If I run or breathe too deep, the cheap stitches holding me together will snap, and all the stickiness inside will pour out and burn through the concrete.

Killing people is easier than it should be." Dad put on his beret. "Staying alive is harder.