Quotes About Struggle

There had to be a last man standing. And it wasnt the cuate in the Bronco begging for water.

All the time you spend tryin to get back what's been took from you there's more goin out the door.

His own tracks came from the cave bloodred with cavemud and paled across the slope as if the snow had cauterized his feet until he left dry white prints in the snow.

He thought perhaps if he dreamt of him enough he'd go away forever and be dead among his kind

Those whom life does not cure death will.

Where men can´t live gods fare no better

Quando sognerai di un mondo che non è mai esistito o di uno che non esisterà mai e in cui sei di nuovo felice, vorrà dire che ti sei arreso. Capisci? E tu non ti puoi arrendere. Io non te lo permetterò.

I'm not by myself. I'm schizophrenic.

Only that man who has offered up himself entire to the blood of war, who has been to the floor of the pit and seen the horror in the round and learned at last that it speaks to his inmost heart, only that man can dance.

the right dreams for a man in peril were dreams of peril and all else was the call of languor and of death.

There's no such thing as life without bloodshed, McCarthy says philosophically. I think the notion that the species can be improved in some way, that everyone could live in harmony, is a really dangerous idea. Those who are afflicted with this notion are the first ones to give up their souls, their freedom. Your desire that it be that way will enslave you and make your life vacuous.

Glanton was first to reach the dying man and he knelt with that alien and barbarous head cradled between his thighs like some reeking outland nurse and dared off the savages with his revolver. They circled on the plain and shook their bows and lofted a few arrows at him and then turned and rode on. Blood bubbled from the man's chest and he turned his lost eyes upward, already glazed, the capillaries breaking up. In those dark pools there sat each a small and perfect sun.

It makes no difference what men think of war ... War endures.

Now come days of begging, days of theft. Days of riding where there rode no soul save he.

Before the colt could struggle up John Grady had squatted on its neck and pulled its head up and to one side and was holding the horse by the muzzle with the long bony head pressed against his chest and the hot sweet breath of it flooding up from the dark wells of its nostrils over his face and neck like news from another world.

People will go to strange lengths to avoid the suffering they have coming. The world is full of people who should have been more willing to weep.

The enemy of your undertaking is despair.

They were all day among the dunes and in the evening coming down from the last low sandhills to the plain below among catclaw and crucifixion thorn they were a parched and haggard lot man and beast. Harpie eagles flew up screaming from a dead mule and wheeled off westward into the sun as they led the horses out onto the plain.

But the old woman said that some have no choice. She said that for the poor any choice was a gift with two faces.

His whole life was sitting there in front of him. Day after day from dawn till dark until he was dead. All of it cooked down into forty pounds of paper in a satchel. He

Los que no pueden recordar la sangre de la guerra son siempre los más ardientes para la lucha.

He rode all night and in the first gray light with the horse badly drawn down he walked it out upon a rise beneath which he could make out the shape of the town, the yellow windows in the old mud walls where the first lamps were lit, the narrow spires of smoke standing vertically into the windless dawn so still the village seemed to hang by threads from the darkness.

The boy who rode on slightly before him sat a horse not only as if he'd been born to it which he was but as if were he begot by malice or mischance into some queer land where horses never were he would have found them anyway.

My life is ghastly