Quotes About Struggle

transferring her hunger to eat into a hunger to hurt. He didn't turn round. She knew she should let it go, but it was too late. She'd chewed the insult over, torn it apart and swallowed it. The insult was part of her now.

She painted what appeared to be portraits, but that was only on the surface. The beautifully rendered flesh stretched, and sometimes sagged, over wounds, over celebrations. Over chasms of loss and rushes of joy. She painted peace and despair. All in one portrait. With brush and canvas and oils, Clara both captured and freed her subject.

Living in the wreckage of her future sure took the joy out of the present.

People die in bits and pieces. A series of petites morts. Little deaths. They lose their sight, their hearing, their independence. Those are the physical ones. But there're others. Less obvious, but more fatal. They lose heart. They lose hope. They lose faith. They lose interest. And finally, they lose themselves

She took the long way home," said Ruth. "Some do, you know. They seem lost. Sometimes they might even head off in the wrong direction. Lots of people give up, say they're gone forever, but I don't believe that. Some make it home, eventually.

Why be a saint unless you could also be a martyr?

in Beauvoir's experience losers were the most dangerous people. Because eventually they got to the stage where they had nothing more to lose.

FINE stands for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical. I'm FINE.

FINE stood for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Egotistical.

In grief people were themselves and not themselves.

Anyone so damaged as to cause this much harm led a life full of secrets and full of enemies.

They kill. To feel safe. It almost never worked.

But being essentially a dumpster fire herself, she was familiar with flames.

struck. Once. And into that blow he put his childhood, his grief, his loss. He put his mother's sorrow and his sister's longing. The menorah, weighed down with that, crushed the Hermit's skull.

But then, Armand Gamache thought, where else would you find darkness but right up against the light? What greater triumph for evil than to ruin a garden?

But privately Reine-Marie wondered. Wondered whether what people did in a crisis was, in fact, their real selves. Stripped of artifice and social training. It was easy enough to be decent when all was going your way. It was another matter to be decent when all hell was breaking loose.

FINE? Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical?

Their creations eventually die of neglect, of malnourishment. And sometimes, when that happens the artist also dies.

Each day they tracked down killers. Each day they put their own lives on the line. And in return they were scapegoated. Chained to the ground, food for politicians looking for reelection.

Clara knew that grief took a terrible toll. It was paid at every birthday, every holiday, each Christmas. It was paid when glimpsing the familiar handwriting, or a hat, or a balled-up sock. Or hearing a creak that could have been, should have been, a footstep. Grief took its toll each morning, each evening, every noon hour as those who were left behind struggled forward.

It would be natural for some to feel that pressure and choose speed over quality. And try to hide it when something goes wrong. Not because they're bad people, but because they're people. That way lies tragedy.

it didn't feel wrong. It felt wretched. Horrific. A nightmare. But sometimes "right" felt like that.

Armand stood up, still holding Stephen's hand, and said, "It's time. Let him go." Then he sat back down, his legs weak. If this was the right thing to do, why did it feel so wrong? But no, it didn't feel wrong. It felt wretched. Horrific. A nightmare. But sometimes "right" felt like that.

was always human and never pleasant and often misleading. Aid workers, when handing out food to starving people, quickly learn that the people fighting for it at the front are the people who need it least. It's the people sitting quietly at the back, too weak to fight, who need it the most. And so too with tragedy. The people who don't insist on their sorrow can often be the ones who feel it most strongly.