Quotes About Struggle

Sometimes when you're cruel to others, it's because you've gotten yourself into a situation you can't get out of.

She shut the door in the man's face, leaning back against it, her heart hammering with panic.

I haven't forgotten one second of how good it felt to hold you, but I wasn't the one who pulled away. You don't want me to be more, do you? I just keep pushing against your walls, and to tell you the truth, baby, my hands are starting to bleed. do you want me gone for good? Look at me, tell me to leave you alone, and I will. I swear I'll get in my truck, drive off, and never bother you again." --Tommy to Shea

There is a part of me that wishes you would tell me what I want to hear, but I appreciate that you are being honest about the struggle. It will do," she said. "For now.

all I could think was how strange it was that it was a messed-up child who barely knew herself who actually had so much to teach me about the business of living. I was suddenly glad of his solidity in a world where it was so easy to fall. It is important not to turn the dead into saints. Nobody can walk in the shadow of a saint. You live. And you throw yourself into everything and try not to think about the bruises.

For someone who is invisible, why am I the only one in this family who can't seem to master the art of disappearing?

She had this chant, "All will be well, all will be well." I started to believe them, but the whole thing was a scam. It was just some stupid thing to say to make me believe life isn't unfair. And just when I thought life was perfect, it became unbearable again.

I've never felt this ugly or embarrassed — this dirty — in my life. I hate the way I feel. I hate it. I'm a pervert. Why else would my body feel that way when I looked at those pictures?

The hard floor makes my head ache more than it did before, but I don't get up. I don't move. I feel all the ugliness and shame I've bottled up pour over me and cover me like a blanket.

She knew she should be grateful to have a job at all. It took her two years of subbing before she finally landed this one. She couldn't risk losing it. She turned the handle slowly, pushed the door forward as if it was a giant boulder blocking the opening to a dark cave. She felt, for a moment, like Polyphemus returning to a cave of sheep. It wasn't the first time she felt like a monster.

I stand here, looking at it. At my new life. No more people staring at me when I walk down the hall. No more whispers behind my back. No one knows me here. No one knows what happened. What I did. I just have to get through the year, get into college someplace far away, and leave for good.

It's hard living with eternal optimists. No matter how many times life craps on them, they wipe it off their faces and smile. I seem to be the only one who has accepted the truth: there is nothing around that corner but more crap.

In most sports, your brain and your body will cooperate... But in rock climbing, it is the other way around. Your brain doesn't see the point in climbing upwards. Your brain will tell you to keep as low as possible, to cling to the wall and not get any higher. You have to have your brain persuading your body to do the right movements.

This isn't a nice story, and this isn't an easy story. But it is a story about fairies, so feel free to think of it as a fairy story. It's not like you'd believe it anyway.

Being left alone - and I am being left alone - isn't quite as much what I wanted as I thought. Is this how people become evil? I don't want to be.

In reality, while we aim for excellence, we're always living on somebody's dunghill.

Writers are not nice people. We can't be.

Marx is like Plato, he has dreams that can't come true as long as people are people.

I couldn't be anything. I could barely manage to hold out my shape in the world.

Do?ru, bu dünyada gerçekten de kötü ?eyler var; ama ayn? zamanda harika kitaplar da var.

People tell you to write what you know, but I've found that writing what you know is much harder than making it up. It's easier to research a historical period than your own life, and it's much easier to deal with things that have a little less emotional weight and where you have a little more detachment. It's terrible advice!

Vivendo minha sorte, com lutas e guerras!

O demônio esbarra manso mansinho, se fazendo de apeado, tanto tristonho, e, o senhor pára próximo – aí então ele desanda em pulos e prazeres de dansa, falando grosso, querendo abraçar e grossas caretas – boca alargada. Porque ele é – é dôido sem cura. Todo perigo.

O pobre sozinho, sem um cavalo, fica no seu, permanece, feito numa crôa ou ilha, em sua beira de vereda. Homem a pé, esses Gerais comem.