Quotes About Struggle

Not once did we ever have the money to buy them a single toy. AND

Niekas nelaimi karo.Visi pralaimi

I never really even tried. But if I'm not a New York actress, what am I? I'm a person who takes a subway from the outer boroughs to lower Manhattan office every morning, who spends her days answering phones and doing copying, who is too disconsolate when she gets back to her apartment at night to do anything but sit on the couch and stare vacantly at reality TV shows until she falls asleep. Oh Godm it really was true, wasn't it? I really was a secretary.

We were moving because Eric's office had moved there, and commutes from Bay Ridge to Long Island City uncomfortably reminded us of Latin American immigrants knifed to death by bigots in subway cars en route to one of their three jobs at two in the morning.

Last night I had a dream that I was about halfway up a sheer cliff, endlessly high. Up ahead of me was, it seemed, everyone I'd ever known—the guys at the shop, my family, Gwen, Eric, D—and they were pulling ahead, climbing fast, leaving me behind. I tried to call out but found I had no voice, that my words slurred and died in my mouth, that I could not be heard. I awoke with a terrified lurch, unable to scream. I have this dream all the time.

The loon started smacking her forehead with the heel of her palm. Fuck! she yelled. Fuck! FUCK!

A drowning person doesn't rescue herself.

but an idea had presented itself to him, knocking at his brain like a nighttime traveler, and instead of shutting the door in its face, Browles built it a fire, he drew a chair for it up to the hearth and spent half a decade trying to decipher and then convey what it struggled to tell him. He was patient and industrious and quietly determined. Buffeted by setbacks and rejection and his own limitations, he persevered.

Wake the sleeper must, and confront his fears, or risk being lost in the dark places of the mind forever.

Trust can be a hard lesson; hope still more difficult.

Not all were joyful tales; we needed to acknowledge that love was not just kisses, smiles, and fulfillment, but also sacrifice, compromise, and hard work.

Because, when I was away, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Part of me said, yes, it was the right thing to do, for your sake; part of me recognized the kind of man I am, the kind of work I do, the utter impossibility of it. But the other part of me... I felt your absence like a wound.

There's a light shining in him, moving him forward: the light of freedom. That's what draws all of us to follow, to take risks, to keep on fighting when we see our comrades fall beside us. But there's no light without shadow.

We're all trapped in a net of consequences, condemned to paths outside our control. It's the way of things.

Can this be love that twists and tears the heart so? Does love give nothing but the power to hurt each other? Is this what makes the simplest touch blend longing and terror in equal measure? Whatever this is, it feels like a mortal wound.

You are a child no longer, whatever you might wish. You are a woman with a woman's body, and you do not think or feel as you did back there at Sevenwaters, when you ran wild in the forest and the trees spread their canopy to shelter you. Men will look at you. Come to terms with it, Sorcha. You cannot hide forever. They will look at you with desire in their eyes. You were taken against your will, and it damaged you. But life goes on.

Somewhere, beneath that darkness, I had seen both strength and honor. But his words of despair mocked my efforts at healing.

What I do . . . the path I tread . . . it brings some choices that test me hard.

Everyone has responsibility for his own actions. But sometimes we can lose ourselves. Out of fear or sadness or guilt, we become less than we should be. It can be hard to find the courage to move on.

had seen enough such deaths before to know that when the cloud of sorrow hangs too heavily over a person, nothing helps; no love, no hope, no

Another man might have taken vengeance in blood and fire, or made an end of himself. Regan is stronger than that. There's a light shining in him, moving him forward: the light of freedom. That's what draws all of us to follow, to take risks, to keep on figting when we see our comrades fall beside us. But there's no light without shadow.

Porquê Sorcha? - disse ele. -Porquê ela para tanto sofrimento? Ela está inocente de qualquer maldade, incapaz de um pensamento mau. Porque há-de ela fazer este sacrifício por nós? - Porque é a mais forte - disse Conor simplesmente. - Porque dobra com o vento, mas não quebra. Sorcha é o fio que nos liga a todos. Sem ela somos como folhas ao vento, sopradas de um lado para o outro.

Not all of us manage to find that spark. Not all of us keep it alive.

One woman can't fix every wrong. One woman or one man can't help every soul in trouble. Doesn't matter how much you want to.