Quotes About Struggle

I would have thought that you'd be tired of vomiting blood and going to therapy and the prospect of being a nervous wreck all your life. Trés masochistic.

What's this "rough life of a novelist" bullshit? You sound like an idiot. You're a writer. At least give yourself better lines.

Philip Murdstone sat considering the phrase 'depths of despair'. Its plural implied that there were, even now, levels of it he had yet to experience.

If you weren't here and Oma died, I'd deal with it. Because there'd be nothing more to lose. It'd be just me. But now it's different; it's worse. Because you're yet another person to lose. You do stupid, dangerous things, and every time you go away, I pray in agony that you'll come back. It's unfair. Hope is pulling me to pieces. I can't stand it.

I can't write that dreadful hobbity stuff. I just simply... can't.

I believe in a religion that believes in freedom. Any time I have to accept a religion that won't let me fight a battle for my people, I say to hell with that religion.

It is an ironic fact that while half the world's population is dying as a result of diseases of poverty (largely starvation and infection) the other half is succumbing to diseases of affluence.

When things are bad, we take comfort in the thought that they could always get worse. And when they are, we find hope in the thought that things are so bad they have to get better.

By the time we've made it, we've had it.

We are not fighting for integration, nor are we fighting for separation. We are fighting for recognition as human beings. We are fighting for… human rights.

The day that the black man takes an uncompromising step and realizes that he's within his rights, when his own freedom is being jeopardized, to use any means necessary to bring about his freedom or put a halt to that injustice, I don't think he'll be by himself.

If you're born in America with a black skin, you're born in prison.

We didn't land on Plymouth Rock; the rock was landed on us.

Whether you're educated or illiterate, whether you live on the boulevard or in the alley, you're going to catch hell just like I am. We're all in the same boat and we all are going to catch the same hell from the same man. He just happens to be a white man.

I don't see any American dream; I see an American nightmare.

Only against death does man cry out in vain.

Now you see what kind of creatures we are, Hugh. Eating things alive. That's what we do. How can you have much respect for mankind, or any belief in the social struggle?

Hugh put one foot up on the parapet and regarded his cigarette that seemed bent, like humanity, on consuming itself as quickly as possible.

I have resisted temptation for two and a half minutes at least: my redemption is sure.

What use were his talons and fangs to the dying tiger? In the clutches, say, to make matters worse, of a boa-constrictor? But apparently this improbable tiger had no intention of dying just yet. On the contrary, he intended taking a little walk, taking the boa-constrictor with him, even to pretend, for a while, it wasn't there.

It's amazing when you come to think of it how the human spirit seems to blossom in the shadow of the abattoir!

Ah, guilt and sorrow had dogged Juan's footsteps too, for he was not a Catholic who could rise refreshed from the cold bath of confession. Yet the banality stood: that the past was irrevocably past. And conscience had been given man to regret it only in so far as that might change the future. For man, every man, Juan seemed to be telling him, even as Mexico, must ceaselessly struggle upward. What was life but a warfare and a stranger's sojourn?

St. Teresa of Avila described our life in this world as like a night at a second-class hotel.

The depravity of man is at once the most empirically verifiable reality but at the same time the most intellectually resisted fact.