Quotes About Struggle

Undisclosed failings, she thought; that great weight we all carry around with us, some of us for all our lives, unable to speak about them, unable -- involuntary Atlases all -- to share the burden.

It would be good if there could be an end to need in this world; it would be good if people did not have to worry about what would happen to them if their crops failed, or if their cattle got sick and died, or if they lost the jobs on which they, along with a number of hungry mouths, depended.

And that, in a way, was the burden of being a philosopher: one knew what one had to do, but it was so often the opposite of what one really wanted to do.

Sometimes the world seemed so unfair: good people were tricked or bullied by bad people, and the bad people seemed to get away with it. If only he could do something about it, he said to himself. But then he thought: What can I possibly do? And the answer, it seemed to him, was: Not much.

was particularly hard for women now, when there were so many children left without

Look at what very ordinary people have lost, and think about that for a moment. What has happened to working-class communities in Scotland? To miners, for example. To fishermen? Who? You might well ask. To men and women who work with their hands? Who again? These people are being swept away by globalisation. Swept away. Now they're all so demoralised that they're caught in the culture of permanent sick notes. And who speaks for the young Scottish male, as a matter of interest?

The world was not perfect—it never had been and never would be; it was full of pitfalls and problems, of fear, of regrets and of bitter tears. Here and there, though, there were tiny points of light, hard to see at times, but there nonetheless, like the welcoming lights of home in the darkness. The flames that made these lights were hard to ignite, but occasionally, very occasionally, we found that we had in our hands the match that could be struck to start one of these little fires.

They sang that song which distills all the suffering and the hope of Africa; that song which had inspired and comforted so many, "Nkosi Sikeleli Afrika," God Bless Africa, give her life, watch over her children.

There were people like that, he thought; people for whom one wanted only happiness because that is what they deserved, but who were destined to be denied it because the gods, and the world, were unfair. The queue for happiness was not well ordered, he thought; it stretched out and wound round corners, and sometimes, it seemed, the end was so hard to see.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni sighed. "People are always falling ill, Mma. That is the way we are." He paused. "I'm sorry, of course. It is not very pleasant being unwell, but it is always happening

There are so many people who would love to be able to live in peace, but there are so many others who do not want to let them.

Metaphors were so bloody: people shot messengers, flogged dead horses, cut the throats of their competitors. Perhaps that was life; perhaps that was what it was really like.

People who hated often had to work quite hard at keeping their hatred warm.

Such a beginning presaged nothing good. However, I lost neither courage nor hope. I turned to the consolation of all those in distress, and for the first time tasted the sweetness of prayer, poured forth from a pure but riven heart. I fell asleep serenely, unworried as to what was to become of me.

We live without power of law, like flocks of ravens they come and sweep over the land.

Alt?n çaÄŸ, bütün halklar?n ortak düÅŸüncesidir ve insanlar?n, bugünden hiçbir zaman hoÅŸnut olmay?p ve geleceÄŸine iliÅŸkin olarak da pek az ümit beslemek gerektiÄŸini deneyleriyle öÄŸrenip, bir daha dönülemeyecek olan geçmiÅŸi düÅŸ güçlerinin bütün çiçekleriyle süslediklerini kan?tlar sadece.

That night God and Satan fought long hours for his soul. And God conquered. It was only left to be determined which of the two was God.

There is no loneliness like that of a failed marriage.

No doubt I shall go on writing, stumbling across tundras of unmeaning, planting words like bloody flags in my wake....

How much strength must one people have? And for how long must they have it?

Dad says, At least death by mercenary is quicker. Than what? Death by aid.

At morning assembly we were read the words of Cyprian of Carthage: 'Let us on both sides of death always pray for one another.' Then we bowed our heads and beseeched God to protect our troops, and to send us peace and plentiful rain, and to grant us an ample harvest. But God remained pretty meager with his miracles: the dead stayed dead, the war went on, the rain either came too early and too strong or not at all, and the harvest depended in whether or not we'd had eelworm and blight.

It was a land of almost breathtaking beauty or of savage poverty; a land of screaming ghosts or of sun-flung possibilities; a land of inviting warmth or of desperate drought. How you see a country depends on whether you are driving through it, or living in it. How you see a country depends on whether or not you can leave it, if you have to.

And for the majority of the country, Freedom did not include access to the sidewalks, the best schools and hospitals, decent farming land or the right to vote. It now seems completely clear to me, looking back, that when a government talks about "fighting for Freedom" almost every Freedom you can imagine disappears for ordinary people and expands limitlessly for a handful of people in power.