Quotes About Struggle

Yet now, having held in grief and resentment, and evaded thinking too much about the episode that changed my life with the finality of an axe, here I am exalted by having made use of it, by having spilled my guts in public. We are strange creatures, and writers are stranger creatures than most.

She will burn bright until she goes out; she will go on standing on tiptoe until she falls.

Like many another Western pioneer, he had heard the clock of history strike, and counted the strokes wrong.

What little strength he had left flowed out of him and was soaked up; his bones and veins and skin held nothing but tiredness and pain.

Going up the path she felt that she was crying silently inside, drowning in desolate unshed tears.

I'm tired of hearing that the Lord shapes the back to the burden.

After all, we had been programmed in the same system, stuffed like Strasbourg geese with the best that has been known and said in the world during man's long struggle upward from spontaneity to cliché.

Talent lies around in us like kindling waiting for a match, but some people, just as gifted as others, are less lucky. Fate never drops a match on them. The times are wrong, or their health is poor, or their energy low, or their obligations too many. Something.

But the day that had started crooked insisted on going crooked, like a cross-threaded screw.

You've got a resilient temperament, Mister Morgan," Sally said. "I have to compensate for a woman who lives in constant anxiety, depression, and alarm.

I am concerned with gloomier matters: the condition of being flesh, susceptible to pain, infected with consciousness and the consciousness of consciousness, doomed to death and the awareness of death. My life stains the air around me. I am a tea bag left too long in the cup, and my steepings grow darker and bitterer.

As a practitioner of hindsight I know that Grandfather was trying to do, by personal initiative and with the financial resources of a small and struggling corporation, what only the immense power of the federal government ultimately proved able to do. That does not mean he was foolish or mistaken. He was premature. His clock was set on pioneer time. He met trains that had not yet arrived, he waited on platforms that hadn't yet been built, beside tracks that might never be laid.

From this the poem springs: that we live in a place That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves And hard it is in spite of blazoned days.

Youngish artists have a way of being melancholy. It may be that this is merely a symptom of the distress they feel at the absence of definition. They have no very distinct outline either of themselves or of the abstractions that bedevil them. They are, in short, likely to be a bit baffled.

The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one's desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.

All Things Imagined Are of Earth Compact… All things imagined are of earth compact, Strange beast and bird, strange creatures all; Strange minds of men, unwilling slaves to fact: Struggling with desperate clouds, they still proclaim The rushing pearl, the whirling black, Clearly, in well-remembered word and name. Even the dead, when they return, return Not as those dead, concealed away; But their old persons move again, and burn.

NEGATION Hi! The creator too is blind, Struggling toward his harmonious whole, Rejecting intermediate parts, Horrors and falsities and wrongs; Incapable master of all force, Too vague idealist, overwhelmed By an afflatus that persists. For this, then, we endure brief lives, The evanescent symmetries From that meticulous potter's thumb.

The way through the world Is more difficult to find than the way beyond it.

He's splitting me open, I thought. He'll break me and then I'll die.

That's the trouble with survival of the fittest, isn't it, Dominick? The corpse at your feet. That little inconvenience.

I'd say it's been my biggest problem all my life... it's money. It takes a lot of money to make these dreams come true.

There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that those things which make us human are, curiously enough, always close at hand. Resolve then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tiny blasts of tiny trumpets, we have met the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us.

Man has to fight for what he wants, any way he can.

Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death.