Quotes About Struggle

Not much of what I value in our lives is easy.

Leaving wasn't weak, and it wasn't giving up. It was brave and hard fought, a transition like any other, difficult and scary and probably necessary in the end. Fighting it only delayed the inevitable.

But happy is harder than it sounds,

Parenthood is like that...the harder the choice, the less likely any of the options are good ones

Anything too easily won was soon lost or else not worth winning

I'm so sorry because it's still not easy. You have a long, hard, terrible road ahead. There are lots of ways to travel it, but they all suck and they all involve letting go.

Having children, helping people, making art, inventing anything, leading the way, tackling the world's problems, overcoming your own. I don't know. Not much of what I value in our lives is easy.

Having children, helping people, making art, inventing anything, leading the way, tackling the world's problems, overcoming your own. I don't know. Not much of what I value in our lives is easy. But there's not much of it I'd trade for easy either, I don't think.

Not much of what I value in our lives is easy. But there's not much of it I'd trade for easy either, I don't think.

It's irritating when people tell you that you're such good parents you're failing your kid.

I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life. And that's the problem. When you're alive, people can hurt you. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out. But it's a lie.

I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?

Do I want to die from the inside out or the outside in?

I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life. And that's the problem. When you're alive, people can hurt you. It's easier to crawl into a bone cage or a snowdrift of confusion. It's easier to lock everybody out. But it's a lie.

Who wants to recover? It took me years to get that tiny. I wasn't sick; I was strong.

I know my head isn't screwed on straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.

knowing that if she ceased to trust her prescience it would cease to be trustworthy, fought a dreary battle with self-doubt.

My theory is that a strong healthy man isn't likely to be creative. It is illness and pain that encourages him to live another life.

Like a Chinese finger puzzle made of woven straw, finding relief requires us to relax rather than pull in order to gain release.

I get a kick out of people who talk like it only happened to them," says lawyer Denis Kelly. "I wonder, 'Didn't you notice that everybody else is going through it?

Out here on the water, it's a fine line between feeling in control and losing it altogether.

Every misfortune is a blessing in disguise.