Quotes About Struggle

Beneath the gore and smoke and loam, this book is about the evanescence of life, and why some men choose to fill their brief allotment of time engaging the impossible, others in the manufacture of sorrow.

I was born with the devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing. DR. H. H. HOLMES CONFESSION 1896

expected, well suited to Germany's guerrilla

If this long island story of ours is to end at last, let it end only when each of us lies choking in his own blood upon the ground.

I am convinced that every man of you would rise up and tear me down from my place if I were for one moment to contemplate parley or surrender. If this long island story of ours is to end at last, let it end only when each of us lies choking in his own blood upon the ground.

But no matter how far Germany advanced or how much more territory it seized, Hitler would not prevail. The might of the British Empire—"nay, in a certain sense, the whole English-speaking world"—was on his trail, "bearing with them the swords of justice.

Marxism, however, is not primarily a theory of class structure; it is above all a theory of class struggle.

My life had become so dichotomized and compartmentalized, so off the tracks that I barely understood it myself. I couldn't tell him that Spade was Jekyll and Hyde, two men trapped inside one six-foot-three roiling meat suit. Nothing about my life was suited for picnic talk.

i loved the freedom writers diary and even though i only read it because my teacher made us i loved the book. it shows me some feelings that i also feel sometimes, and even though i never finished reading it because i got lazy its the only book ive ever liked

He was really having a hard time with this. He was not a seductive kind of guy, and if he tried to be sexy, he was going to sound like Romeo, the porn version.

Corbin wanted, quite simply, to die. He had wished for death many times over his long lifespan, but never as fervently as he did while Beth Adams rattled off breastfeeding statistics, her baby sucking industriously, mouth fully around the entire areola, as Sam was quick to point out, finger outlining the area in question. Corbin was speechless. -Corbin at Baby Boot Camp

The path of true love never ran smooth. More likely you ran out of gas, blew a tire, and hit the wall before you crossed the finish line.

It's like strapping toothpicks onto a newborn colt and telling him to walk. Wearing heels is a sport and I don't want to play.

frequent spells of "ailing," during which there seemed to be nothing particularly wrong save a psychic maladjustment seeking a physical manifestation.

We have graft today. A hundred years ago we had graft. We probably have more today than we had a hundred years ago. For three generations now people have been following reformers, fighting all sort of graft.—And what has it brought them, sweetheart? Not a damn thing, except more graft than when they started

the money was to go only to those who had been incapacitated in life's battles: the crippled, the aged, the infirm. To those who could still struggle on, Sabin offered nothing. The privilege of struggling for achievement was the privilege of living, and to take away that right to struggle was equivalent to taking away life itself.

The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.

If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits?

We've got a generation now who were born with semiequality. They don't know how it was before, so they think, this isn't too bad. We're working. We have our attache' cases and our three piece suits. I get very disgusted with the younger generation of women. We had a torch to pass, and they are just sitting there. They don't realize it can be taken away. Things are going to have to get worse before they join in fighting the battle.

I have seen my kid struggle into the kitchen in the morning with outfits that need only one accessory: an empty gin bottle.

Okies who had just stepped into the corridor long enough to get a tin can of water for our boiling radiator. There are other stories, other dilemmas, but the characters never change. We're always standing around, unwashed, uncurled, harried, penniless, memory gone, no lipstick, no hose, unmatched shoes, and using the dirtiest cloth in the house to bind our wounds. Makes

To grow up at all is to conceal the mass of internal scar tissue that throbs in our dreams.

We might say that both the artist and the neurotic bite off more than they can chew, but the artist spews it back out again and chews it over in an objectified way, as an external, active work project

I have reached far beyond my competence and have probably secured for good a reputation for flamboyant gestures. But the times still crowd me and give me no rest, and I see no way to avoid ambitious synthetic attempts; either we get some kind of grip on the accumulation of thought or we continue to wallow helplessly, to starve amidst plenty. So I gamble with science and write.