Quotes About Struggle

I've played the powerless in too many dark scenes. I was blessed with a birth and a death and I guess I just want some say in between

Fear is inky. Fear stains the white sheet of consciousness that one comes swaddled in and no amount of earthly scrubbing can make it completely clean again.

There are hurdles, there are handicaps, hardships you have to face in life, but you hope for a great future.

You know that day after day of, Oh God what am I going to do with myself feeling? The fear of the emptiness that it implies keeps me going.

I don't have royal blood," I told her, "but we two could have been twins. It was as if we swam in the same fluids in our mother 's womb, so that some of my maleness became hers and some of her femaleness mine. That made us strange in the eyes of the world, which does not care for in-between beings. We have both taken blows because of it. She was protean, as am I. She was fierce and affectionate and smart and unpredictable. That is why I loved her . . . that is why!

When Things Close In It feels as though I make my own way through massive rock like a vein of ore alone, encased. I am so deep inside it I can't see the path or any distance: everything is close and everything closing in on me has turned to stone. Since I still don't know enough about pain, this terrible darkness makes me small, If it's you, though— press down hard on me, break in that I may know the weight of your hand and you, the fullness of my cry.

Winning does not tempt that man. His growth is this: to be defeated by ever greater forces. Book of Images

And Everything Matters The tasks that have been entrusted to us are often difficult. Almost everything that matters is difficult, and everything matters. Worpswede, July 16, 1903 Letters to a Young Poet

What should I say about your tendency to doubt your struggle or to harmonize your inner and outer life? My wish is ever strong that you find enough patience within you and enough simplicity to have faith. May you gain more and more trust in what is challenging, and confidence in the solitude you bear. Let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right in any case. Furnborg, Jonsered, Sweden, November 4, 1904 Letters to a Young Poet

Fiction, the time-honoured resource of the ill-at-ease, would have to come to her aid, but the choice of a book presented some difficulties...

For they themselves were still beautiful, designed for a more beautiful life than the one in which they found themselves becalmed. She saw that they were more stoical, had more depth, than she had ever perceived.

Strangely my husband had more in common with my parents than I had; all were on a lifelong mission to deny the truth, the truth being that they were furiously disappointed.

Yet for all her solitariness, or her self-sufficiency, she lacked an overriding philosophy to help her deal with encroachments, incursions, and thus fell at the first fence.

Some time ago she had tried to substitute irony for longing, and had almost succeeded. That was why this alternative life so nearly appealed to her.

His sleeplessness seemed to confine him to a ghetto, in which the forsaken, the forgotten, and the unsatisfied were his fellow inmates. It seemed to him that women in these situations could not possibly experience the same degree of loneliness.

She nodded back, and thought how limited her means of expression had become: nodding to the pianist or to Mme de Bonneuil, listening to Mrs Pursey, using a disguised voice in the novel she was writing and, with all of this, waiting for a voice that remained silent, hearing very little that meant anything to her at all. The dread implications of this condition made her blink her eyes and vow to be brave, to do better, not to give way. But it was not easy.

Fiction, the time-honoured resource of the ill-at-ease, would have to come to her aid

There was no one to whom he could explain that in order to survive he needed to be at altitude, a Himalayan altitude, so he might breathe.

That was the way life was: it lay so quiet, so still that you put your fingers out to touch it, to stroke it. Then it leapt up and struck you full in the face so that you spun about and spun about, gasping. The flames leapt up all around, rising by inches every minute, rising in rings.

she used to say she would drown herself in but because she didn't, because she died, after all, in bed, I felt she was still trying to get there. A person needs to choose his death.

do not take freedom 25 for granted for she is a very fickle lover she will leave you in a heart beat 30 'cos for now she is married to colonisation a cruel and murderous spouse 35 if you were doin' time like a fine wine, brother you would make a beautiful bouquet

the enduring struggle to capture in words the infinite possibilities of a life not lived.

The weight of his losses finally too much to bear. But not before he has known the unforgiving light of the equator, a love that exists only in his imagination, and the enduring struggle to capture in words the infinite possibilities of a life not lived.

And she thought then how strange it was that disaster—the sort of disaster that drained the blood from your body and took the air out of your lungs and hit you again and again in the face—could be at times, such a thing of beauty.