Quotes About Struggle

I can't bear the thought of my mother having to push me around in a wheelchair. I'd rather die quickly.

In the land of Cheerios, dirty diapers, fleeting naps and interrupted sleep, other mothers are a lifeline.

What motivated me? My mother. My mother was an immigrant woman, a peasant woman, struggled all her life, worked in the garment center.

Life as Hunter Thompson's mother was no weenie roast.

Progress is the mother of all problems.

My mother is a special story. She went through so much to bring us up, four men at home, especially when our country was going through really difficult times.

Mothers always think you are working either too hard or not hard enough.

My mother carried on and supported us; her ambition had been to write poetry and songs.

when the time came I would do battle with my mother for the right to sit at the center of my own life.

I grew up poor in India, and there were days when we struggled to find food and other basic necessities. Our mother worked odds and ends jobs to keep the family together and educate us.

When I was a kid, my mother's parenting style teetered between benign neglect and intense bouts of violence.

My mother was making $135 a week, but she had resilience and imagination. She might take frozen vegetables, cook them with garlic, onion and Spam, and it would taste like a four-star dinner.

I have had to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the insolence of his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without enjoying its advantages.

My father was a CPA. He worked hard in the aircraft industry, and would come home more and more infrequently. He was about to leave my mother, which he did when I was 15.

My mother believed he would be healed. She counted on God, and the worst thing happened. The impact of that error in theology, in thinking, impacted my life from the very beginning.

I lost my daughter at 21. I had to give her up because I was broke, no place to take her, no money to take her. That was very traumatic.

My mother took care of us until my father scrammed, and then she ended up working in the small-factory sector of New Jersey with a lot of other immigrants.

I was a disaster child. I remember I make very often my mother cry.

I would get parts and not be able to take them because my mother didn't have a car.

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent's can't give. More food.

I was happy, I wasnt beaten, and I lacked nothing. But it wasnt what people expect - it was very much sort of pinching and scraping. I dont know how my mother did it.

We can't end poverty if we fail to save the lives of our world's mothers.

I've made love to my mother, killed my father, and my brother. What am I to do?

When I was 17 years old, I put out an album while my mother was dying of cancer. That right there alone is a struggle. That's hard. That's tough for anybody.