Quotes About Struggle

He had painstakingly assembled all the ingredients of happiness. He had performed all the necessary rituals, spoken the words, lit the candles, made the sacrifices. But happiness, like a disobedient spirit, refused to come. He couldn't think what else to do. He

Sometimes I think I am fate's sword. She wields me cruelly." Quentin wondered what it was like to be so unselfconsciously melodramatic. Nice, probably. "Right.

If being a hero is a matter of knowing your cues, like the fairy tale said, he'd missed his.

He was asked to draw a rabbit that wouldn't keep still as he drew it—as soon as it had paws it scratched itself luxuriously and then went hopping off around the page, nibbling at the other questions, so that he had to chase it with the pencil to finish filling in the fur. He wound up pacifying it with some hastily sketched radishes and then drawing a fence around it to keep it in line.

It was too easy, and he'd had enough of doing things the easy way.

Julia picked at her food, managing a bite every few minutes, like her body was an unloved pet that she was being forced to babysit.

But it wasn't going to kill him. It wasn't sexy, but it was real, and that was what mattered now. No more fantasies—that was life after Fillory.

Boys were so unstable that way, full of buggy, self-contradictory code, pathetically unoptimized.

it wasn't that things were harder than you thought they were going to be, it was that they were hard in ways that you didn't expect.

Sabes lo mas divertido? Lo que es para partirse de risa? Que no es verdad, que ni siquiera lo quieres. Aunque todo esto terminase sin mas contratiempos, seguirías sin ser feliz. Te rendiste en Brooklyn y en Brakebills, y cuando llegue el momento también te rendirás en Fillory. Es lo más fácil, ¿verdad?

He was obviously one of those people who felt at home in the world–he was naturally buoyant, where Quentin felt like he had to dog-paddle constantly, exhaustingly, humiliatingly, just to get one sip of air.

The world around her, the straight world, the mundane world, had become to her a blowing wasteland. It was empty, a postapocalyptic world: empty stores, empty houses, stalled cars with the upholstery burned out of them, dead traffic lights swaying above empty streets. That missing afternoon in November had become a black hole that had sucked the entire rest of her life into it. And once you'd fallen past that Schwarzschild radius, it was pretty damn hard to claw your way back out again.

he was still in the real world, where bad, bitter things happened for no reason, and people paid for things that weren't their fault.

Shit was getting geological, yo.

I think you're magicians because you're unhappy. A magician is strong because he feels pain. He feels the difference between what the world is and what he would make of it. Or what did you think that stuff in your chest was? A magician is strong because he hurts more than others. His wound is his strength. "Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But

Sometimes I think I am fate's sword. She wields me cruelly.

We found some of them. It was always either a fight

By the time he was thirteen it was all over. Edward's gift evaporated like dew in the harsh dawn of puberty, painlessly and almost overnight, and though afterwards he could clearly remember what it was like to wander through those gleaming mental corridors, the doors to that secret edifice were now firmly closed, the silver key lost, the path overgrown, never to be found again. His ranking plummeted, and his matches became a series of tearful early concessions.

Being brave was easy when you would rather die than give up. Fatigue meant nothing when you actually wanted to suffer.

But at the same time I could feel the ordeal remaking me. You know? Like the desert itself was smelting me, melting away weaknesses and impurities and extracting what was hard and true.

What was under all that armor, all that anger? More anger, and more armor. Anger and armor, all the way down.

what was meaning anyway but a burden that weighed them down?

I think you're magicians because you're unhappy. A magician is strong because he feels pain. He feels the difference between what the world is and what he would make of it. Or what did you think that stuff in your chest was? A magician is strong because he hurts more than others. His wound is his strength.

No hay nada que le guste más a un adicto en recuperación que otro le cuente lo mal que lo pasó en los viejos tiempos y lo bajo que llegó a caer. Que empiece la fiesta.