Quotes About Struggle

In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life.

it's so hard to find a male to gratify one's artistic taste

People try so hard to believe in leaders now, pitifully hard. But we no sooner get a popular reformer or politician or soldier or writer or philosopher—a Roosevelt, a Tolstoy, a Wood, a Shaw, a Nietzsche, than the cross-currents of criticism wash him away. My Lord, no man can stand prominence these days. It's the surest path to obscurity. People get sick of hearing the same name over and over.

No one likes to see people in moods of despair they themselves have survived.

My courage is faith—faith in the eternal resilience of me—that joy'll come back, and hope and spontaneity. And I feel that till it does I've got to keep my lips shut and my chin high, and my eyes wide—not necessarily any silly smiling. Oh, I've been through hell without a whine quite often—and the female hell is deadlier than the male.

Hay una cosa segura, más segura que ninguna: los ricos hacen dinero y los pobres hacen… niños

This Side of Paradise

A bad driving and not even trying!

O ümitlerdir ki ÅŸimdi sefer etmekteyiz, biz o ak?nt?ya kar?? giden tekneler, durmadan geriye geçmiÅŸe çarp?l?p at?lsak da ne gam..

Dear little Dot, life is so damned hard. She was crying upon his shoulder. So damned hard, so damned hard, he repeated aimlessly; it just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can't be hurt ever any more. That's the last and worst thing it does.

he hated to be sober. It made him conscious of the people around him, of that air of struggle, of greedy ambition, of hope more sordid than despair, of incessant passage up or down

Writers aren't exactly people, they're a bunch of people trying to be one person.

There had been something in the details he had chosen to describe that made her cry herself asleep that night, for the kitten, for Anthony for herself, for the pain and bitterness and cruelty of all the world.

I've never met a man who led a rotten life and didn't have a weak will.

What a feeble thing intelligence is, with its short steps, its waverings, its pacings back and forth, its disastrous retreats! Intelligence is a mere instrument of circumstances... Intelligence is little more than a short foot-rule by which we measure the infinite achievements of circumstances.

His mind, under the influence of that insidious mildew which eventually forms on all but the few, gave itself up furiously to every indignation of the age.

She was a brave, hopeful woman and she was following her husband somewhere, changing herself to this kind of person or that, without being able to lead him a step out of his path, and sometimes realizing with discouragement how deep in him the guarded secret of her direction lay. And yet an air of luck clung about her, as if she were a token...

Gatsby credeva nella luce verde, nel futuro orgastico che anno dopo anno si ritira davanti a noi. Ieri c'è sfuggito, ma non importa: domani correremo più forte, allungheremo di più le braccia ... e un bel mattino... Così continuiamo a remare, barche contro corrente, risospinti senza posa nel passato.

It's only when the settlement work has gone on for months that one realizes how bad things are. As our secretary said to me, your finger-nails never seem dirty until you wash your hands.

Life was a damned muddle . . . a football game with every one off-side and the referee gotten rid of—every one claiming the referee would have been on his side. . .

It is astonishing how much worse one mosquito can be than a swarm. A swarm can be prepared against, but one mosquito takes on a personality—a hatefulness, a sinister quality of the struggle to the death.

No hay fuego ni frío que pueda desafiar a lo que un hombre guarda entre los fantasmas de su corazón.

We'll all be failures? Yes. I don't mean only money failures, but just sort of - of ineffectual and sad, and - oh, how can I tell you?

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning — So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. - Nick Carraway