Quotes About Struggle

Worthless. Stupid. These are the words I grew up hearing. They're the words I try to outrun, because if I let them in, they might stay there and grow and fill me up and in, until the only thing left of me is worthless stupid worthless stupid worthless stupid freak. And then there's nothing to do but run harder and fill myself with other words…

The cadence of suffering has begun." -Cesare Pavese I am in pieces.

E' come se dentro me ci fosse una creatura incazzata che scalpita per uscire. Sono anni che mi cresce dentro e ormai occupa tutto lo spazio, mi preme sui polmoni, sul petto, sulla gola. Io faccio di tutto per ricacciarla indietro. Non voglio farla uscire. Non posso farla uscire". "Raccontami di un giorno perfetto

The Boy Violet Markey Loves

The thing I don't say is: I want to stay alive. The reason I don't say it is because, given that fat folder in front of him, he'd never believe it. And here's something else he'd never believe--I'm fighting to be here in this shitty, messed-up world. Standing on the edge of the bell tower isn't about dying. It's about having control. It's about never going to sleep again.

Worthless. Stupid. These are the words I grew up hearing. They're the words I try to outrun, because if I let them in, they might stay there and grow and fill me up and in, until the only thing left of me is stupid worthless stupid worthless stupid freak. And then there's nothing to do harder and fill myself with other words: This time will be different. This time, I will stay awake.

Maybe he knew it, and maybe that's why he decided to crash into the glass a little harder than normal that day. He would have died in here, only slower, because that's what happens when you're a Finch. The marriage dies. The love dies. The people fade away.

Extenuating Circumstances

People rarely bring flowers to a suicide.

You saved my life. Why couldn't I save yours?

What if life could be this way? Only the happy parts, none of the terrible, not even the mildly unpleasant. What if we could just cut out the bad and keep the good? This is what I want to do with Violet - give her only the good, keep away the bad, so that good is all we ever have around us.

Listen, I'm the freak. I'm the weirdo. I'm the troublemaker. I start fights. I let people down. Don't make Finch mad, whatever you do. Oh, there he goes again, in one of his moods. Moody Finch. Angry Finch. Unpredictable Finch. Crazy Finch. But I'm not a compilation of symptoms. Not a casualty of shitty parents and an even shittier chemical makeup. Not a problem. Not a diagnosis. Not an illness. Not something to be rescued. I'm a person.

What a terrible feeling to love soemone and not be able to help them.

I like to think that even these people, whose hardships seem to come all at once, might get to experience the same number of joys in their lives as everyone else (and sometimes those feelings of joy pop up smack in the middle of hardship). And on the flip side, people whose lives seem perfect might also be suffering in ways we don't see, or might face hardships down the road." -Ari

But I like to think that even these people, whose hardships seem to come all at once, might get to experience the same number of joys in their lives as every else (and sometimes those feelings of joy pop up smack in the middle of hardship). And on the flip side, people whose lives seem perfect might also be suffering in ways we don't see, or might face hardships down the road." -Ari

Del's face was ravaged. "Tiger, please—" I shook my head. "You told me once I loved you. Maybe so. Maybe I do. But right now, with all of this, I find it very hard even to like you." Del, too shocked, said nothing. I turned the stud loose and rode.

Bright colors don't exist in the ghetto, except for the yellow stars and puddles of red blood that we carefully step around.

I was in the biggest breakdown of my life when I stopped crying long enough to let the words of my epiphany really sink in. That whore, karma, had finally made her way around, and had just bitch-slapped me right across the face. The realization only made me cry harder.

She just wanted to go home. And not home to the farmhouse where all the ghosts lived, but home to Tai, and to an earlier time, when raising Eli was a no-brainer. Easy. As easy as raising an infant.

In the middle of this poor life, we are surrounded by mystery, and the pity of it is that we would rather just be poor. No real tolerance for mystery at all.

When Thomas Hobbes called life "nasty, brutish, and short," he was describing life during war, but it applies equally well to life with small children (as well as to the children themselves). Like war, it manages to be both boring and exhausting. Day after day, there's nothing to do and so much to get done.

My mind tells me to give up, but my heart won't let me.

People say I'm not good at writing about men. My dad left when I was 16. Give me a break. I'm doing the best I can.

So here I am. Twenty-eight years old, with thirty looming on the horizon. Drunk. Fat. Alone. Unloved. And, worst of all, a cliche, Ally McBeal and Bridget Jones put together, which was probably about how much I weighed...