Quotes About Struggle

I believed I could change the world, and the weight of that belief almost crushed me. But guess what - apart from God, I can do nothing. I can't get anywhere... My ability to accomplish anything good is dependent on my willingness to dwell in the current of God's will.

That is what I wanted, to find in a commonplace world a chance to live heroically. Having known nothing but security, comfort, and peace, I hungered for danger, challenges, and violence.

that she was suffering from a brain tumor. It was temporarily under control, but she expected it would eventually kill her. She

about the German boy's throat and tried to strangle him and to stop another dreadful cry. The second officer made haste. He thrust his revolver close to the

My own parents and grandparents came to the United States as refugees from Nazism. They came with stories similar to Odette's ...

So Rwandan history is dangerous. Like all of history, it is a record of successive struggles for power, and to a very large extent power consists in the ability to make others inhabit your story of their reality - even, as is so often the case, when that story is written in their blood.

Raw pain alarms. us. It reminds us that life isn't as orderly as we'd hoped. We demand that pain settle down before we shuffle it off to the quiet table. We want pain to stay in its own little section, want to keep it from spilling over into the other parts of life. Just like . lunch trays. Keep pain in its own little compartment.

My life is a train of unfinished tasks, one railcar after another of half-finished efforts, with no caboose in sight.

Christianity has its roots in the profound sense of exile.

On the fourth anniversary of the war, peace seemed further away than ever. The military conspirators, and Billing, their pawn, had achieved their aims.

Burton struggled to get up onto his feet. Nobody, not even God, was going to punch Richard Burton in the ribs and get away without a battle.

What did anything mean? he wondered. And how did a person tell? We can never be certain. Not until our dying day. And maybe not even then. All of us, he thought, are down here fumbling around, guessing and calculating. Doing the best we can.

The animal at bay was himself.

It's the basic condition of life to be required to violate our own identity.

We are all insects. Groping towards something terrible or divine.

Sometimes I wish I knew how to go crazy. I forget how.

He felt all at once like an ineffectual moth, fluttering at the windowpane of reality, dimly seeing it from outside.

I became educated to the fact that the greatest pain does not come zooming down from a distant planet, but from the depths of the heart. Of course, both could happen; your wife and child could leave you, and you could be sitting alone in your empty house with nothing to live for, and in addition the Martians could bore through the roof and get you.

There is evil! It's actual, like cement. I can't believe it. I can't stand it. Evil is not a view ... it's an ingredient in us. In the world. Poured over us, filtering into our bodies, minds, hearts, into the pavement itself.

We do not have the ideal world, such as we would like, where morality is easy because cognition is easy. Where one can do right with no effort because he can detect the obvious.

Dilemma of civilized man; body mobilized, but danger obscure.

In a civil war… every side is wrong. It's hopeless to try to untangle it. Everyone is a victim.

Men and the world are mutually toxic to each other.

But an artist, he realized. Or rather so-called artist. Bohemian. That's closer to it. The artistic life without the talent.