Quotes About Struggle

Guile is the shield and spear of the oppressed.

And at once he sacrificed everything to it, if it can be said we ever sacrifice anything save what we know we can never attain, or what some secret wisdom tells us it would be uncomfortable or saddening to possess.

The knowledge that she would never be loved in return acted upon her ideas as a tide acts upon cliffs. Her religious beliefs went first, for all she could ask of a god, or of immortality, was the gift of a place where daughters love their mothers; the other attributes of Heaven you could have for a song.

For what human ill does dawn not seem to be an alleviation?

She talked that night of all those out in the dark (she was thinking of Esteban alone, she was thinking of Pepita alone) who had no one to turn to, for whom the world perhaps was more than difficult, without meaning.

we came through the depression by the skin of our teeth;

America exists to solve problems. America is the solution to the problem

on the brink of war and then tumbling into it. The

War's a pleasure—do you hear me?—War's a pleasure compared to what faces us now: trying to build up a peacetime with you in the middle of it.

The knowledge that she would never be loved in return acted upon her ideas as a tide acts upon cliffs.

El ataque de asma es experimentado por el paciente como un ahogo mortal, el enfermo trata de sorber el aire, jadea y la espiración queda muy dificultada. En el asmático coinciden varios problemas que, a pesar de su afinidad, examinaremos por separado, por motivos didácticos.

If you feel so empty So used up, so let down If you feel so angry So ripped off so stepped on You're not the only one Refusing to back down You're not the only one So get up

Even if I say It'll be alright Still I hear you say You want to end your life And again we try To just stay alive Maybe we'll turn it around 'Cause it's not too late It's never too late

No one knows I lost my soul long ago

So what if you can see The darkest side of me. No one will ever change this animal I have become. Help me believe It's not the real me. Somebody help me tame this animal I have become.

And now your dead inside, still you wonder why, when your on the edge and falling off, its all over, for you

Life happened. In all its banality, brutality, cruelty, unfairness. But also in its beauty, pleasures and delights. Life happened.

Liquor is the kiss of the angels as well as the curse of the devil. It can conceal but also can reveal

If her years as a reporter had taught her anything, it was these two things: One, the world was filled with people who were adrift, rudderless, and untethered. And two, the innocent always paid for the sins of the guilty.

What to do, Smita? She had everything but the gift of years. Nothing we can do. What cannot be cured must be endured.

In her time, she has known the evil that men do. But nothing matches with the evil of the Gods, who, having created humanity, now spend their days teasing and testing it.

unloved, educated or illiterate, wanted or unwanted by her parents, whether or not she suffered hurt and betrayal, or whether she still managed to retain her humanity and nobility? In the end, Bhima thinks, it doesn't matter. It is all ash and dust. This is what it means to be human, she thinks: grains of dust arranged in human form—some dark, some light, some tall, some short, some male, some female. And in the end, the same gust of wind breaks them all down.

Women create, Bhima thinks, men destroy. The way of the world.

If she has truly been brought so low that she has to second-guess the simple act of sharing a fruit with a woman even more destitute than she, then why not relinquish all claims to human society? She may as well join the pack of stray dogs that lives just outside the slum, who snarl and wrestle each other over a bone.