Quotes About Struggle

This defence can only be achieved by killing or disabling the enemy.

To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word.

The shadow of a mighty Negro past flits through the tale of Ethiopia the shadowy and of the Egypt the Sphinx. Throughout history, the powers of single blacks flash here and there like falling stars, and die sometimes before the world has rightly gauged their brightness.

The cost of liberty is less than the price of repression.

One ever feels his twoness, -- an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

Beloved, we are always in the wrong, Handling so clumsily our stupid lives, Suffering too little or too long, Too careful even in our selfish loves: The decorative manias we obey Die in grimaces round us every day, Yet through their tohu-bohu comes a voice Which utters an absurd command - Rejoice.

Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes: Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us.

You will be a poet because you will always be humiliated.

Life remains a blessing Although you cannot bless.

We would rather die in dread/ Than climb the cross of the moment/ And let our illusions die.

Stagger onward rejoicing; And even then if, perhaps Having actually got To the last col, you collapse With all Atlantis shining Below you yet you cannot Descend, you should still be proud Even to have been allowed Just to peep at Atlantis In a poetic vision: Give thanks and lie down in peace, Having seen your salvation.

If people marry on the assumption that love must always overcome obstacles, they will either become unfaithful or they will make things difficult. The better you know someone, the better you can torture him: man and wife become each other's devils.

Now, more than ever, we distinctly hear The dreadful shuffle of a murderous year And all our senses roaring as the Black Dog leaps upon the individual back.

My name on the title-page seems a pseudonym for someone else, someone talented but near the border of sanity...

My heart is hardy, for I have suffered much on the seas and the battlefield: this will be only something more. But a ravenous belly cannot be hid, damn the thing. It gives a world of trouble to men, makes them fit out fleets of ships and scour the barren sea, to bring misery on their enemies.

Suffering does not only insulate. It drops its victim in an ocean desert where he sees men as distant ships passing. I not only feel alone, but very far away from you all.

El único fracaso verdadero es aquel en que la víctima se queda sin brío, aturdida, abatida, rodeada de oscuridad y, en su interior, un cuchillo le corta lenta e implacablemente las cuerdas del corazón.

poverty proved greater than vanity...

La vida es una borrachera. El único hombre sobrio es el melancólico que, desencantado, contempla la vida, ve cómo es y se corta el gaznate. Si es así, quiero estar muy borracho. Lo importante es vivir, agarrarnos a nuestra existencia y salir corriendo con ella en una búsqueda intensa y apasionante.

I know that some of us, and for some reason I am one of them, get to reach out and touch our heart's desire, like a child who gets to pet the nose of an old horse, soft as satin, safe as a grandfather's lap. And I know, too, that when most people reach for that heart's desire, it appears not as a horse but as a tiger, and they are rewarded with snarls, frustration, and disillusionment.

She had fouled off of the curves that life had thrown at her.

Shoeless Joe became a symbol of the tyranny of the powerful over the powerless. The name Kenesaw Mountain Landis became synonymous with the Devil.

Is life a boon? If so, it must befall That Death, whene'er he call, Must call too soon. Though fourscore years he give, Yet one would pray to live Another moon! What kind of plaint have I, Who perish in July? I might have had to die, Perchance, in June! Is life a thorn? Then count it not a whit! Man is well done with it; Soon as he's born He should all means essay To put the plague away; And I, war-worn, Poor captured fugitive, My life most gladly give - I might have had to live, Another morn!