Quotes About Struggle

Life is brutal that way... the loss of irrecoverable moments amid trivia and distraction.

We are created for precisely this sort of suffering. In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain. We are destined and designed to bear our pain with us, hugging it tight to our bellies like the young Spartan thief hiding a wolf cub so it can eat away our insides. What other creature in God's wide domain would carry the memory

All those before us have gone into the darkness without assurance of logic or fact or persuasive theory, with only a slender thread of hope or all too shakable convention of faith. And they have been able to sustain that slim hope in the face of darkness, then so must I.

She would follow him there. And she would die there -- and die soon. Of misery and of strangeness and of all the vicious, petty, alien, and unbridled thoughts that would pour into her like the poison from the Goldner tins poured into Fitzjames -- unseen, vile, deadly.

You're upsetting a delicate balance of corruption that has existed here for centuries.

Martin Silenus strides back to the dying fire. "Worse," he says. "He could be twisting on the Shrike's steel tree. Where we'll be in a few—" Brawne Lamia rises suddenly and grasps the poet by his shirtfront. She lifts him off the ground, shakes him

Life is brutal that way Ã¢â'¬Â¦ the loss of irrecoverable moments amid trivia and distraction.

Well, nothing helps an artist's career more than a little death and obscurity, I always say.

Hobbes's Leviathan. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

Doomed with enfeebled carcass to outstretch His loathed existence through ten centuries

Le disgustaba morir, y no quería morir más de lo necesario.

It is hard to die. Harder to live.

We are created precisely for this type of suffering. In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain. We are destined and designed to bear our pain with us, hugging it tight to our bellies like the young Spartan thief hiding a wolf cub so it can eat away our insides.

I've never been in a place that seemed as mean or shitty, and I've spent time in some of the great sewer cities of the world.

storm and nightfall.

How they must have thought their efforts and adventures over, only to have to pick up their burdens again. How often, I realized now as an adult in my standard thirties, how often that is the case in all of our lives.

interlocutor

All those before us have gone into the darkness without assurance of logic fact or persuasive theory, with only a slender thread of hope or the all too shakable convinction of faith. And if they have been able to sustain that slim hope in the face of darkness, then so must I.

Despite the near-death of science. Despite our fatal addiction to the toys granted us by our own creations.

suddenly. "Why do you men have to add to it? Why does our species always have to take our full measure of God-given misery and terror and mortality and then make it worse?

Can we stop them? Kassad was panting, pouring sweat, and literally quivering from excitement. —

the suicidal smell of cigarettes

it's the mind analogy that bothers Crozier the most. Haunted and plagued by melancholia much of his life, knowing it as a secret weakness made worse by his twelve winters frozen in arctic darkness as an adult, feeling it recently triggered into active agony by Sophia Cracroft's rejection

Prison always has been a good place for writers, killing, as it does, the twin demons of mobility and diversion, and