Quotes About Struggle

This general eclipse of ambition and determination and fortitude, all of the very qualities on which I have prided myself, is ridiculous, and, I must admit, somewhat obscene.

He's quite as nervously broken down as I am, but it manifests itself in different ways. His inclination is toward megalomania and mine toward melancholy.

I talk with the authority of failure.

Yet in the awful majesty of her pain he went out to her unreservedly, almost sexually. He wanted to gather her up in her arms, as he so often had Nicole, and cherish even her mistakes, so deeply were they part of her. The orange light through the drawn blind, the sarcophagus of her figure on the bed, the spot of face, the voice searching in the vacuity of her illness and finding only remote abstractions. As he arose the tears fled lava-like into her bandages.

I did not think - I was a battleground for the thoughts of many men.

He used to think that he wanted to be goos, he wanted to be kind, he wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too, if he could fit it in.

This was a valley of ashes – a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air.

Y así vamos adelante, botes que reman contra la corriente, incesantemente arrastrados hacia el pasado.

Well I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything

Ne gariptir, ac?dan kaç?nmaya çal???rken, bazen bizi o noktaya getiren ayak izlerinin bir bir üzerinden geçmek gerekebilir.

If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of the individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye.

The truth was that for some months he had been going through that partitioning of the things of youth wherein it is decided whether or not to die for what one no longer believes. In the dead white hours in Zurich staring into a stranger's pantry across the upshine of a streetlamp, he used to think that he wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too, if he could fit that in.

Rosemary pojecha?a do Monte Carlo zgn?biona - na miar? swoich mo?liwo?ci - wprost bezgranicznie.

What a feeble thing intelligence is, with its short steps, its waverings, its pacing back and forth, its disastrous retreats!

Dear little Dot, life is so damned hard. [...] 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.

It was necessary for him to have hope. So he built hope, desperately and tenaciously out of the stuff of his dream, a hope flimsy enough, to be sure, a hope that was cracked and dissipated a dozen times a day, a hope mothered by mockery, but, nevertheless, a hope that would be brawn and sinew to his self-respect.

that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A

Now there was this scarcely saved waif of disaster bringing him the essence of a continent...

Yet her tired heart, beating until it shook her breasts, made her sure that there was still life in her, desperately shaken, threatened…

But 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.

Bizler ak?nt?ya kar?? gemilerimizi ilerletmeye çal???rken, hiç durmadan geçmiÅŸe çekiliyorduk asl?nda.

Back at two o'clock in the Roi George corridor the beauty of Nicole had been the beauty of Rosemary as the beauty of Leonardo's girl was to that of the girl of an illustrator. Dick moved on through the rain, demoniac and frightened, the passions of many men inside him and nothing simple that he could see.

Life stood over me like an immoral schoolmistress, editing my ordered thoughts. But, with a mistaken faith in intelligence, I plodded on.