Quotes About Struggle

Unfortunately, there's no getting around it: people have to work for their happiness. We go into battle every day, and we have to work to be happy. It just isn't handed over to us, as much as we wish it was.

When George Washington directed federal troops to exterminate the Onondaga during the Revolutionary War, a nation that had numbered in the tens of thousands was reduced to a few hundred people in a matter of one year.

In my room, in the dark, I understood what I never had before, what no one else seemed to. I understood how a boy could go into the woods with a bullet and a gun and not come out. That there was no conspiracy, no evil influences or secret rituals; that sometimes there was only pain and the need to make it stop.

Things fall apart. But things don't just fall apart. People break them.

Never blame the man: his hard-pressed Ancestors formed him: the other anthropoid apes were safe In the great southern rain-forest and hardly changed In a million years: but the race of man was made By shock and agony… … a wound was made in the brain When life became too hard, and has never healed. It is there that they learned trembling religion and blood- sacrifice, It is there that they learned to butcher beasts and to slaughter men, And hate the world.

Struggling is mandatory. Suffering is optional.

It's usually the roughest waters that teach us the most.

The one thing she had learned was that to be tolerated and endured was less dignified than being hated. And it was infinitely more painful.

She'd always had a short fuse but lately she was positively electric and could burst into flame anywhere, anytime. ... When she was out of the shower, dry and cool, she had one of those reprieves that came regularly - she felt perfectly normal, sane and in control. Then came the inevitable guilt . . .

You know, Pastor, how we always say God won't give us more than we can handle?" "Yes, Lydie." She sighed. "I wish God didn't have such a high opinion of me." *

Unfairness and injustice are two things that really threaten blind faith.

We'll get everything straightened out. This has gone on long enough—we have to bring it to a close." She was quiet for a long moment before she said, "We?" He gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Come on, don't you feel like we're in this together? I want to help, Ellie. You got screwed, by Arnie, by the court, all around. You don't deserve this." She

but I'm still the child of an abusive alcoholic and we don't make great parent material.

Because I've been to war, and it still wasn't as scary as living around here.

Paul accused me of remaining an addict even after I stopped drinking. I don't think he understood that's exactly how it works. I am my demons, and my demons are me. Some days I do all the talking and some days my monster does all the drinking, but every day it's all me.

I recognize the classic story elements from my own life. A family legacy of alcoholism. A parent who was a chronic drunk, another parent who was a chronic enabler. Hitting that awkward, anxious phase of high school, not knowing who I was or where I belonged—and consequently tossing back a beer at that party, or stealing a shot of my parents' liquor before boarding the school bus. That magical melting feeling that immediately followed. That sense of almost primal recognition.

Being a survivor didn't just mean being strong. It meant being lonely. Honestly, truly lonely. Knowing things other people weren't supposed to know. Carrying memories I was desperate to forget and yet still couldn't blank out of my head.

It's not easy, though, being brilliant. Nor being married to one.

I am my demons, and my demons are me.

my throat. A seeping warmth that made my restless limbs and racing brain slow, steady, quiet. Alcohol is my first love and most abusive relationship. All else has paled in comparison. Even my love for Paul.

A girl becomes a comma like that, with wrong boy after wrong boy; she becomes a pause, something quick before the real thing.

Immortality is for the gods. Frankly, I don't know how they stand it.

though her hands were still cuffed in front of her. She found the poker, the only weapon in the room, then once it was at her side, located her clothes. Fighting pain, she stepped into her jeans, socks, and boots, but she couldn't bother with her sweater, bra, or jacket. She had to keep her arms free.

The keel scraped the sharp rocks. Shrieking as if in pain, the keel split open and the sea swarmed over the decks, flooding into the lower part of the boat, bringing it down, the craft pitching and bobbing even as it sank into the hurtling depths.