Quotes About Struggle

I'm a hero hunter. I hunt heroes. Haven't found any yet. - Marshal Law

Angel , who found a flower blooming in hell and died for it ...

What are the thorns really telling her? It's why she won't let us see them, why she clings to them--or they cling to her--as though she got herself buried in a bramble thicket and she can't get out and we can't get in to free her.

In that place things begin to wear away even as they are built; the living die a little more each day. The sun is too far away; light slides endlessly into night; fire and love consume themselves; the heart tries to warm itself with ashes.

Oh, yes. He felt the pearls brush down his face again. Dory turned: he met her eyes and let her see the new pearls forming. Anything that beautiful is terrible. Because it's outside of you. It's not you. You'll do anything to make it part of you. You'd eat it, drown in it, kill it, let it kill you. Anything to stop it from not being you.

You can't fight me." Tearle reminded him harshly. "I know." In the placid light, his face looked chilled and very weary. "But I can die.

his unending ambition to find death and conquer it or become it, which, poets said later, became the same thing in the end.

The rains began. Hard, constant, they battered the fields, turned the roads to mud, crushed the gold leaves into the ground and turned them black. In the wood, the sodden trees and brambles bowed beneath the torrents.

The human world is a cold and bitter place: nothing lasts in it. You must know that by now…. What did you imagine you were doing in those two rooms? Trying to turn yourself human?" "Yes," Corbet said, so simply that for a breath he rendered his father incapable of moving.

Nobody, living or dead, makes things easy even when you love them. Especially then.

Then he was dragged out of flight, pulled again into the shrieking snarl of wind to stare into the empty eyes of the monster that saw nothing everywhere it looked, except when it looked at itself.

He seems to be fighting again. But whether he is battling memories or something real, I can't tell.

Chapter 8 Laura and Almanzo

Today green pastureland has dried up and turned to sandy plains, and the land provides little support to the herders, who can barely scratch out an existence in the semi-arid climate. Each day is a test of their survival.

But...if it's so awful and difficult who not try to become a group? Be accepted? He glittered at me for a moment, then said, I would rather be mad.

Misery alternates with euphoria.

He resorted to tyranny—the favored fallback of English aristocrats when democracy wasn't going their way.

Jonah, being a writer, is a slow learner, stubborn, self-righteous, not given to trust [ Out of the Garden ].

She had seen just now what she had only sensed before, that the whole world was ready to be their enemy, and suddenly what she and Carol had together seemed no longer love or anything happy but a monster between them, with each of them caught in a fist.

Nothing was true but the fatigue of life and the eternal disappointment.

There was something demoniacal and insuperable about typographical errors, as if they were part of the natural evil that permeated man's existence, as if they had a life of their own and were determined to manifest themselves no matter what, as surely as weeds in the best-tended gardens.

And the hopelessness of herself, of ever being the person she wanted to be and of doing the things that person would do. Had all her life been nothing but a dream, and was this real?

to live against one's grain, that is degeneration by definition.

A classic is something with a human situation.