Quotes About Struggle

She hadn't been given the proper tools to make a real life with, she decided, that was it. She'd been given a can of gravy and a hairbrush and told, "There you go." She'd stood there for years, blinking and befuddled, brushing the can with the brush. Still

Despite all my curatorial impulses and training, my priestly harborings and professional, courtly suit of the past, I never knew what to do with all those years of one's life: trot around in them forever like old boots--or sever them, let them fly free? Of course, one couldn't really do either. But there was always the trying, and pretending. And then there was finally someplace in between, where one lived.

No matter what terror or loveliness the earth could produce—winds, seas—a person could produce the same, lived with the same, lived with all that mixed-up nature swirling inside, every bit.

the people-pleaser struggles to do it with the right motive. Pleasing and glorifying God by serving others takes a backseat to serving others to promote and glorify self.

I look back on the poor benighted creature I was before I met her, and I see a dead man. Marching in all the right directions, answering when spoken to, fulfilling all his appointed rounds, but dead all the same. And now this woman has awakened me, and I am alive at last, and at what cost! What pain it is to be among the living!

After all these years, his best friend is malaria. Even on the brink of an Alaska summer, it comes calling: a bone-deep chill one night, a ministry of sweat the next. Calling him back to old battles.

the power of evil is both great and universal, is an ever present blight on life in all its manifestations, and is a matter of daily experience in the life of every man.

Most therapists grew up struggling to be loved and accepted by others. Because of these early experiences, many of us find it difficult to believe others can be of help to us. We carry this struggle into our adult lives and, inevitably, into our relationships with our clients.

He gets into the habit of thinking so passionately at night that he begins to be persecuted by insomnia.

Christmas is such a trial,' said Mrs McCosh. 'I do most sincerely wish the Lord had been born at some other time.

Socrates stared abjectly at his right foot, which it had become too much of an ordeal to move. He summoned up an effort of will which, to his consternation, moved one of his forefingers. He tried to make the effort of will to stop it, but could not make the effort of will to make the effort of will. Locked into an infinite regress of incapacity, he stood absolutely still and retreated into the kaleidoscope of unconnected images behind his eyes. One of the nuns wiped a tear from his face

for the bird that cannot soar, God has provided low branches.

Do you know the strangest thing about being a soldier? It is that you are repeatedly ordered to commit suicide. and you obey.

He was like one of those saprophytic orchids that can create harmony and wonder even as it grows and blossoms on a pile of shit, in a place of skulls and bones. He let his rifle rust, and even los it once or twice, but he won battles armes with nothing but a mandolin. (195-196)

Dz?ve ir cietums, kas b?v?ts no nabadz?bas un nepiepild?tiem sap?iem, t? ir l?na virz?šan?s uz manu vietu zem zemes, t? ir Dieva vilt?ba, lai liktu mums vilties mies?, t? ir tikai ?su br?di degoša liesmi?a e??as trauk? starp vienu tumsu un citu, kas ir t?s gal?.

The silver fish flashed in the sun like new knives, transforming their asphyxiation into a display of beauty as they flicked and leapt against each other and died.

I had to live among them secretly, like one who conceals leprosy.

All of my joys have been pulled out of my mouth like teeth. All my home is nothing but sadness and silence and ruin and memory. I have been reduced, I am my own ghost, all my own beauty and youth have shrilled away, there are no illusions of happiness to impel me. Life is a prison of poverty and aborted dreams, it is nothing but a slow progress to my place beneath the soil.

She tried to control herself rigidly, saying to herself, I won't look at him for another half hour. But all to no avail. She would sneak a glimpse, his eyes would flicker, and there she would be again, imprisoned by an amused smile and a raised eyebrow.

I am ashamed. I play a diminished chord because I am diminished.

Agora, eu ia arrastado, nesta fuga em massa, para a morte em comum, para o fogo… Isto vinha das profundezas mais recônditas e tinha acontecido.

Pour que dans le cerveau d'un couillon la pensée fasse un tour, il faut qu'il lui arrive beaucoup de choses et des bien cruelles.

Her alanda, as?l yenilgi, unutmakt?r, özellikle de sizi neyin gebertmiÅŸ olduÄŸunu unutmak.

What is worse is that one wonders how, to-morrow, one will find strength enough to go on doing what one has been doing the day before, and for so much too long before that, – strength for the whole mad business, for a thousand and one vain projects: attempts to escape crushing necessity; attempts which are always stillborn....