Quotes About Struggle

We have to fight them daily, lake fleas, those many small worries about the morrow, for they sap our energies.

It is sheer hell in this house. I would have to be quite a writer to describe it properly. Anyhow, I sprang from the chaos and it is my business to pull myself out of it.

by the essence of their nature, which was frail, all human beings were probably doomed to be seasick.

He's blind, and nearly deaf in the bargain," Mrs. Martello said proudly. "And he's going in surgery just as soon as they get him all fixed up for it. He's got a malignancy.

hardest time: our voice will not be our own. The crusader's voice is the voice of the crowd and must rise louder all the time, for there is, of course, the other side to be drowned out. Worse, the voices of most crowds sound alike. Worse still, the voice that seeks to do other than communicate when it makes a noise has something brutal about it; it is no longer using words as words but as something to brandish, with which to threaten, brag or condemn.

Je meurs, vous entendez, je veux dire que je meurs, je n'arrive pas à le dire, je ne fais que de la littérature.

Nefericire cel ce vrea s?-ÅŸi p?streze originalitatea! Ei bine, asta e. Am sa ma apar impotriva tuturor! PuÅŸca, unde mi-e puÅŸca? (Se întoarce cu faÅ£a c?tre capetele de rinoceri din fundal ÅŸi strig?) Am s? m? ap?r împotriva lumii întregi, m? voi ap?ra! Sunt ultimul om ÅŸi voi r?mîne aÅŸa pîn? la cea din urm? suflare! Nu m? dau b?tut!

Am avut întodeauna o proast? cenestezie:nu îmi e bine în pielea mea.De unde È™i nevoia de euforizante sau de b?utur?... S? te laÈ™i în voia vieÈ›ii.S? te laÈ™i purtat,s? te laÈ™i ca pluta pe apele duratei,s? te laÈ™i în voia vieÈ›ii È™i astfel,poate,s? ajungi în stare a te l?sa s? mori.Minima rezisten??.

Totul e o povar?.Oare ce nu m? împov?reaz??

Obositul ins Cineva rupea din el cîte puÈ›intel. L-a l?sat decolorat È™i cutremurat, Mirat s-a pip?it dar nu s-a reg?sit. Din el o forÈ›a rea creÈ™tea È™i-l cuprindea. Obositul ins se l?s? cuprins.

I'll take on the whole lot of them! I'll put up a fight against the lot of them, the whole lot of them! I'm the last man left, and I'm staying that way until the end. I'm not capitulating!

MADELEINE: Well, then, if you've always been such a sober-sides, if you've nothing seriously wrong with you, if all your faculties are still intact, wake yourself up a bit, get to work, write your masterpiece . . . AMÉDÉE: I tell you I've no inspiration . . .

Mon oncle, que Dieu ait son âme, était l'ivrogne officiel du village. Il s'y engageait en chancelant. Il criait : « Mon Dieu, je vous en prie, laissez-moi passer, je ne boirai plus jamais. » Mais, quand il arrivait sur l'autre rive, il dansait, il chantait, il criait : « Je boirai encore. Ah, ah, ah! »

Your hold on me is great. But the universe is greater, and what I need is greater still.

I've longed for fulfillment and all I find is torment. I had to choose between peace and passion. I chose passion, fool that I was!

You had to suffer shipwreck through your own efforts before you were ready to seize the lifebelt he threw you. Believe me, I know from my own experience that the Master knows you and each of his pupils much better than we know ourselves. He reads in the souls of his pupils more than they care to admit.

You had to suffer shipwreck through your own efforts before you were ready to seize the lifebelt he threw you.

C'est pour cela que les jeunes se suicident ou qu'on les tue. Ainsi on les cloue dans leur jeunesse pour toujours, dans les panoplies de l'éternité.

EDMUND: It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a sea gull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death!

God damn you, stop shoving your rotten soul in my lap!

You'll say to yourself, I'm just an old man who is scared of life, but even more scared of dying. So I'm keeping drunk and hanging on to life at any price, and what of it?

Happy roads is bunk. Weary roads is right. Get you nowhere fast. That's where I've got—nowhere. Where everyone lands in the end, even if most of the suckers won't admit it.

EDMUND: [...] A fost o mare greÈ™eal? c? m-am n?scut om. M-aÈ™ fi descurcat mai bine ca pesc?ruÈ™ ori peÈ™te. AÈ™a, o s? fiu mereu un str?in care nu se simte niciodat? în largul lui, care nu doreÈ™te cu adev?rat È™i nu e dorit cu adev?rat, care nu poate s?-È™i g?seasc? niciodat? locul È™i care trebuie s? fie tot timpul un pic indr?gostit de moarte. (Eugene O'Neill - Lungul drum al zilei c?tre noapte)

Oh, I'm so sick and tired of pretending this is a home! You won't help me! You won't put yourself out the least bit! You don't know how to act in a home! You don't really want one! You never wanted one - never since the day we were married! You should have remained a bachelor and lived in second-rate hotels and entertained your friends in barrooms!