Quotes About Struggle

Gadzooks! We've jumped out of the frying pan and into another frying pan!

If I keep grinning maybe my inoperable colon cancer won't hurt so much.

I smile sadly, in light of what came next to think that I told her If you can just hang on, things are bound to improve she made me a liar, too-- the woman who dug the hole I've been trying to write myself out of ever since

The heroin I bought last night was so-so at best, but I dumped a lot into my wake up shot and managed to find a decent vein in my ankle. The dope flooded my bloodstream and I could feel normality returning: my aching muscles relaxed, the ice unthawed around my bones, my jangling nerves subsisted. I looked at my watch; it was 6:30 a. m. Another perfect fucking day had begun.

Our luck was still good. Sometimes a junkie and a whore can still make out in the Land of the Free.

Largely this is a class thing - writers tend to be cosseted little middle-class kiddies who think that the world owes them a royalty cheque. But just doing it - being in your room for years on end, locked in your head, alone with invented ghosts - it weakens and softens the body. And I know I can't just live in my head.

There was lots that could be done. But there was also nothing that could be done. My father was dying.

He couldn't fight this sadness which came in the middle of the night, this sadness which made you feel that nothing could ever be any good again.

The art of being sick is not the same as the art of getting well.

We're all born in love, one love, but we pound it out of each other from birth, and every last lurch of our low-vibration dreary drama is just spastic desperation trying to find its way back to love.

Ah! Qué terrible es el sino de los pobres locos, esos 'renglones torcidos', esos yerros, esas faltas de ortografía del Creador, como los llamaba 'el Autor de la Teoría de los Nueve Mundos', ignorante de que él era uno de los más torcidos de todos los renglones de la caligrafía divina!

Se la veía debatirse entre su deseo de dominar la congoja y la imposibilidad de evitarla. La dejó llorar. El llanto es una descarga de la emotividad. Cuando ésta llega a un punto grave de concentración es preciso abrir compuertas al alma. Y el llanto, a veces, es su mejor cauce.

Locura? - Conflicto entre el yo real y el anhelado

Un muro espeso comenzó a alzarse entre Alice Gould y su capacidad de razonar. "No puedo fijar mis ideas", se dijo. (...) Un oscuro sentimiento le impedía cruelmente alcanzar la meta de su razonamiento. Lanzaba con lucidez y fuerza su argumento hacia el frente y éste regresaba a ella como la pelota rebotada en un frontón.

a partir de ahora tendría que moverse entre multitud de seres cuyas úlceras no estaban el apiel o en las entrañas, sino en la mente: individuos llagados en el espíritu, tarados del alma

Men hva annet kan vi gjøre enn å grave fram vårt eget mørke og stirre på det så lenge som mulig, håpe at det en dag skremmes bort fra våre egne, hatefulle øyne.

Hun trodde kjærligheten skulle gjøre henne godt, men det den gjør, er å servere smerte, slite og rive i henne, skyve henne ut i noe ukjent og noe farlig.

Adolescence is that time when I think, it can be- it's the cruelest place on Earth. It can really be heartless.

And I fear my fear is greater than my faith.

The violence betwen women is unbelievable. Women try to make each other crawl so that their knees are bleeding.

After a while of getting jerked around, you realize what the business is really made up of.

I don't see music as working.

God sometimes you just don't come through, Do you need a woman to look after you?

If all I can say is I'm not in this swamp, I'm not in this swamp then there is not a rope in front of me and there is not an alligator behind me and there is not a girl sitting at the edge eating a hot dog and if I believe that, then dying would be the only answer because then Death couldn't come and say Peachy to me anymore and after all she has a brother who believes in hope.