Quotes About Struggle

It's because she wants it told he thought so that people whom she will never see and whose names she will never hear and who have never heard her name nor seen her face will read it and know at last why God let us lose the War: that only through the blood of our men and the tears of our women could He stay this demon and efface his name and lineage from the earth.

Te lo entrego no para que recuerdes el tiempo, sino para que de vez en cuando lo olvides durante un instante y no agotes tus fuerzas intentando someterlo. Porque nunca se gana una batalla dijo. Ni siquiera se libran. El campo de batalla solamente revela al hombre su propia estupidez y desesperación, y la victoria es una ilusión de filósofos e imbéciles.

Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency . . . to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the "Ode on a Grecian Urn" is worth any number of old ladies.

It surged up out of the water and stood for an instant upright upon that surging and heaving desolation like Christ.

Tomorrow night is nothing but one long sleepless wrestle with yesterday's omissions and regrets.

I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought.

He puts his shoes on, stomping into them, like he does everything, like he is hoping all the time he really cant do it and can quit trying to.

She is not listening. If she could hear words like that she would not be getting down from this wagon, with that belly and that fan and that little bundle, alone, bound for a place she never saw before and hunting for a man she ain't going to ever see again and that she has already seen one time too many as it is.

vomiting the crying

And so sometimes I would think how the devil had conquered God.

Sólo el campo de batalla revela al hombre su propia locura y desesperación y la victoria es ilusión de filósofos e idiotas.

the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat.

There was something terrible in me sometimes at night I could see it grinning at me I could see it through them grinning at me through their faces it's gone now and I'm sick

A dream is not a very safe thing to be near, Bayard. I know; I had one once. It's like a loaded pistol with a hair trigger: if it stays alive long enough, somebody is going to be hurt. But if it's a good dream, it's worth it. There are not many dreams in the world, but there are a lot of human lives. And one human life or two dozen——" "Are not worth anything?" "No. Not anything.—Listen.

When they get done sending you to Parchman you'll have plenty of time between working cotton and corn you aint going to get no third and fourth of even, to study it. They looked at one another. Yes sir, George said. 'Especially wid you there to help me worry hit out.

I am tired of running of having to carry my life like it was a basket of eggs...

He got off on Lincoln and slavery and dared any man there to deny that Lincoln and the negro and Moses and the children of Israel were the same, and that the Red Sea was just the blood that had to be spilled in order that the black race might cross into the Promised Land.

I reckon a man in a tight might let Bill Varner patch him up like a mule, but I be damned if the man that'd let Anse Bundren treat him with raw cement aint got more spare legs than I have.

If it could just be a hell beyond that: the clean flame the two of us more than dead. Then you will have only me then only me then the two of us amid the pointing and the horror beyond the clean flame... ... Only you and me then amid the pointing and the horror walled by the clean flame

A novelist is a failed short story writer, and a short story writer is a failed poet.

We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that. We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.

Father said you swallow like you had a fishbone in your throat...

There are some things which happen to us which the intelligence and the senses refuse just as the stomach sometimes refuses what the palate has accepted but which digestion cannot compass _occurences which stop us dead as though by some impalpable intervention, like a sheet of glass through which we watch all subsequent events transpire as though in a soundless vacuum, and fade, vanish; are gone, leaving us immobile, impotent, helpless; fixed, until we can die.

So that's it, he said. Three hundred dollars. I wish somebody would come into this country with a seed that had to be worked everyday from New Year's right on through Christmas. As soon as you niggers are laid-by, trouble starts.