Quotes About Struggle

I'm getting really tired of bleeding. Someone stop the world, I want to get off.

Jesus, you've got a death wish." "Right now I have a bathroom-and-sleep-somewhere safe wish, kid.

Lilith Saintcrow

leave me," Japhrimel snarled. "You will not leave me to wander the earth alone—breathe, damn you, breathe!

Hi. I'm Dru Anderson. My father went way-out wack after my mom died and now he travels around hunting things that go bump in the night, killing things you can only find in fairytales and ghost stories. I help him out when I can, but most of the time I'm deadweight, even though I can tell you where anything inhuman in this town is likely to hang out. I'm skipping school because I won't be here in another three months. None of it goddamn well matters.

He was the only boy I'd found worth dating in God knows how many schools. I mean, ever since he'd been bitten by a werwulf he'd been rock-steady. The best thing about this totally effed-up situation.

Some days, a killing spree seems like a good idea.

There was a hole inside her, and it twisted.

You can't ever stop thinking something quick enough. Something that hurts always gets the knife in too fast for you to slam a lid on it and shove it away.

It was the same old crap-someone thinking they can push you around because you're young, because you're helpless. You had to just sit there and take it because you were under a certain number, because you weren't a real person yet; you could be picked up and dropped like a toy, left behind or thrown away-

God, was I going to have another day of painful thoughts jumping me every time I relaxed? The obvious solution—to just not relax—was kind of sucking.

Why do you eat your own heart? Because, O King, it is bitter, and because it is my heart.

It wasn't easy, but she was used to swallowing.

Hadn't he spoken to the trees? Of course, the entire trailer park and its surroundings might be razed to make way for something even mortal-uglier, the living earth sleeping fitfully under concrete. He might well decide it wasn't worth the effort, or the heartbreak when such careful work was undone.

What you cannot escape, you must fight; what you cannot fight, you must endure

She had done all she could. It didn't feel like enough. Nothing, in fact, ever did.

Ah, yes, crooked paths often end in quicksand.

It is not good to see people who have been pretending strength all their lives lose it even for a minute.

Unjust. How many times I've used that word, scolded myself with it. All I mean by it now is that I don't have the final courage to say that I refuse to preside over violations against myself, and to hell with justice.

Failure in the theater is more dramatic and uglier than any other form of writing. It costs so much, you feel so guilty.

I was so often silent angry with Hammett for making the situation hard on me, not knowing then that the dying do not, should not, be asked to think about anything but their own minute of running time.

The hardest thing about writing is getting in every day, breaking through the membrane.The second-hardest thing is getting out. Sometimes I sink down too deep and come up too fast. Afterward I feel wide open and skinless. The whole world feels moist and pliable.

Nell and Fen had chased away my thoughts of suicide. But what had they left me with? Fierce desires, a great tide of feeling of which I could make little sense, an ache that seemed to have no name but want. I want. Intransitive. No object. It was the opposite of wanting to die. But it was scarcely more bearable.

But I can't go out with a guy who's written eleven and half pages in three years. That kind of thing is contagious.