Quotes About Struggle

Now, for one day every month, she had to fake everything: her basic humanity, her love for her children, her love for Ed. She'd once been appalled to hear of women claiming PMS as a defense for murder. Now she understood. She could happily murder someone today!

truth be told, if she ever had time to think about it, she wasn't sure if she was even that enthusiastic a fan of God anymore. He seemed to have dropped the ball a long time ago. If God had a supervisor, she would have sent off one of her famous letters of complaint a long time ago. "You have lost me as a customer.

It was like someone had cheerfully suggested she run a marathon when she'd just dragged herself out of bed after suffering from the flu.

Every conversation with her mother was fraught with danger. It was as if they were former players from competing teams who shared a long and violent history.

Everything felt too hard,' John-Paul had said. 'Going to sleep forever just seemed like an easier option.

she couldn't seem to wrestle control of her feelings. She cried and cried.

You okay, Mum?" said Rob. "I'm fine," said Rachel. She went to reach for her cup of coffee and found that she didn't have the energy to even lift her arm.

Marriage to Perry meant she was always ready to justify her actions, constantly monitoring what she'd just said or done, while simultaneously feeling defensive about the defensiveness, her thoughts and feelings twisting into impenetrable knots, so that sometimes, like right now, sitting in a room with normal people, all the things she couldn't say rose in her throat and for a moment she couldn't breathe.

help" screamed silently in her head, as if she were begging for something: a solution, a cure, a reprieve. A reprieve from what? A cure for what? A solution for what? Her breathing had become shallow. She'd felt beads of sweat at her hairline. Then she'd seen the sign. Their lease at their Newtown apartment was up. The two-bedroom unit was in an ugly,

I had bad endometriosis when I was younger, and a doctor told me I'd have a lot of trouble getting pregnant.

When truth be told, if she ever had time to think about it, she wasn't sure if she was even that enthusiastic a fan of God anymore. He seemed to have dropped the ball a long time ago.

It was so easy to forget how bad things were. Like winter. Like the flu. Like childbirth.

Sometimes it felt like Zoe was just waiting out her life now, enduring it, ticking off events and days and months and years, as if she just had to get herself through something unspecified and then things would be better except she never got through it and it never got better and she would never forgive him.

What if evil doesn't really exist? What if evil is something dreamed up by man, and there is nothing to struggle against except out own limitations? The constant battle between our will, our desires, and our choices?

In each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there is a lot of grey to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.

What if evil doesn't really exist? What if evil is something dreamed up by man, and there is nothing to struggle against except out own limitations? The constant battle between our will, our desires, and our choices?

Power changes everything till it is difficult to say who are the heroes and who the villains.

These are hard times. The world hurts. We live in fear and forget to walk with hope. But hope has not forgotten you. So ask it to dinner. It's probably hungry and would appreciate the invitation.

It was what she imagined doing heroin would be like: terrible for you but impossible to resist.

Is it not strange that mankind should so willingly battle for religion and so unwillingly live according to its precepts?

The real difficulty with thousands in the present day is not that Christianity has been found wanting, but that it has never been seriously tried.

Again and again the Church of Christ has been all but engulfed, as men might have deemed, in the billows; again and again the storm has been calmed by the Master, Who had seemed for awhile to sleep.

But no one came. My father was safe, and his family was together in a free land. We'd left virtually everything we had behind—our home, furniture, clothes, and possessions. Our lifelong friends, too. We'd left behind the fields we'd lovingly tilled, the fig and cherry trees that I cherished, and the farm animals that were once so important to us. My father had nothing to show for the business that he'd worked so hard to establish and grow.

My brothers are retro-refugees in the new exile of the asylum-seekers' hostel.