Quotes About Struggle

That was the great puzzle, and it was played out again and again. How hearts do stop.

That is the lure: that is why we lose ourselves, when powerless from hurt and grief, in drugs or gambling or drink; in addictions that collar the broken soul and shake it like a dog. I had found my addiction on that day out with Mabel. It was as ruinous, in a way, as if I'd taken a needle and shot myself with heroin. I had taken flight to a place from which I didn't want to ever return.

I knew I wasn't mad mad because I'd seen people in the grip of psychosis before, and that was madness as obvious as the taste of blood in the mouth. The kind of madness I had was different. It was quiet, and very, very dangerous. It was a madness designed to keep me sane.

Out of the ugliness of the ironworks lepers will eat, children will be born, their parents will grow old.

The women of Juarez, and women across the world, do not want to have to take revenge, any more than Procne and Philomela did. What they want is to be able to rely on the modern gods -- the police, the courts, and the media -- for justice.

Poverty is only ennobling, it is implied, if one has escaped it.

The value of doing something does not lie in the ease or difficulty, the probability or improbability of its achievement, but in the vision, the plan, the determination and the perseverance, the effort and the struggle which go into the project. Life is enriched by aspiration and effort, rather than by acquisition and accumulation.

They tried their best with each other, but it just wasn't any good.

Jess couldn't stop spitting out words, because they were words like blades to hurt, and if she swallowed them, she'd be scraped hollow.

cities are fueled by the listless agony of workers providing services to other workers who barely acknowledge those services.

You come without papers because you have been unable to prove that you are useful to anyone, and when you arrive they put you in prison and if you are unable to prove that you have suffered they send you back.

i]We were fighting so very hard and achieving so very little aside from staying alive. BUT THAT'S EVERYTHING, my father wrote to me, when I told him that in a letter.[/i]

I was so jealous it burned, and I knew I had to let it alone or I'd break something inside me.

And no matter how many times the girl offered her hand, her mother refused it. It was the usual struggle between one who loves by accepting burdens and one who loves by refusing to be one. Really the mother's pursuit of pills wasn't motivated by the necessity of avoiding pain, but a determination to avoid any feeling at all. That's why the pills were better than holding the child's hand.

It was the usual struggle between one who loves by accepting burdens and one who loves by refusing to be

I've always had a hard time figuring out what the moral of a story is supposed to be, and she was bound to know: She'd been to college.

I sat with my head in my hands, shaking. Because the situation was so much worse than I'd thought. My husband was trying to choose between me, his wife, and someone he had made up. And I, the real woman, the wife, had nothing on the made-up girl. We each had five points in our favour. That son of a bitch.

After half an hour the Senora emerged, short of breath, with flushed cheeks....as uf she'd been seized and shaken like a faulty thermometer.

Mami answers and her voice is hoarse and thin, and i think fight me better than this .

Perdita calls upon her mother to repent, and Harriet repenteth not. She points out that tryhards rarely get enough traction to make a significant nuisance of themselves

I don't set too much store by dreams, but it's probably unwise to ignore this kind. These are the kind of dreams that show you you're not doing so well, that you haven't accepted what you thought you'd accepted, that you're a mess, lying there like you've been hit by a bus, your heart and mind standing over you tutting and trying to figure out what even happened, never mind fixing it.

Why can't we kill this panic, or do the other thing and make it mute?

Sometimes we cannot see or hear or breathe because of our fright that this is all our bodies will know. We're scared by the happy hollow discipline that lines our brains and stomachs if we manage to stop after one biscuit. We need some kind of answer.

Dark came to rest on my eyelids; strange and painful pennies.