Quotes About Struggle

How often one goes to sleep troubled and full of pain, not knowing what causes the travail, and in the morning a whole new direction and clearness is there, maybe the result of the black reasoning. And again there are mornings when ecstasy bubbles in the blood, and the stomach and chest are tight and electric with joy, and nothing in the thoughts to justify it or cause it.

It's a hard thing to leave any deeply routined life, even if you hate it.

Onu bir kenara koyarken, anlad???m? söyledim yaln?zca. Ne kötüdür bilirim ama elimden bir ÅŸey gelmez. BaÅŸkas? da sana yard?m edemez. Yaln?zca geçecek diyebilirim ama sen buna inanamazs?n. Yolun aç?k olsun. Bu dönemde birbirimize tahammül edemesek de, sevgim seninle olsun.

Somewhere in the world there is defeat for everyone. Some are destroyed by defeat, and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory.

and the break would never come as long as fear can turn to wrath.

It is a hard thing to leave any deeply routined life, even if you hate it.

The flies have conquered the flypaper

I suppose you think I am going to give you one of those 'You are going out into the world' speeches. Well, you are perfectly right. You are going out into the world and it is a mess, a frightened, neurotic, gibbering mess. And there isn't anyone out there to help you because all the people who are already out there are in a worse state than you are, because they have been there longer and a good number of them have given up.

O sa ai necazuri, spuse bacanul. -E necesar din cand in cand, zise Fauna. Ca sa te simti intr-adevar bine, trebuie sa fii fraier macar o data in viata.

Then crop failure, drought, and flood were no longer little deaths within life, but simple losses of money. And all their love was thinned with money, and all their fierceness dribbled away in interest until they were no longer farmers at all, but little shopkeepers of crops, little manufacturers who must sell before they can make.

Doc, spuse Fauna, am vazut de toate in viata mea. Crede-ma, daca ai ceva de doamna in tine, iti strici toata viata.

I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind. I think that if rejection could be amputated, the human would not be what he is. Maybe there would be fewer crazy people. I am sure in myself there would not be many jails.

It is a hard thing to live any deeply routine life, even if you hate it.

All the goodness and the heroisms will rise up again, then be cut down again and rise up. It isn't that the evil thing wins — it never will — but that it doesn't die.

The Bank--or the Company--needs-wants-insists-must have-as though the Bank or the Company were a monster, with thought and feeling, which had ensnared them.

When a condition or a problem becomes too great, humans have the protection of not thinking about it. But it goes inward and minces up with a lot of other things already there and what comes out it discontent and uneasiness, guilt and a compulsion to get something—anything—before it is all gone.

We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.

At this very moment Pablo Sanchez happened to be sitting in the ditch at the side of the road, wishing he had a cigarette and a glass of wine. Ah, the prayers of the millions, how they must fight and destroy each other on their way to the throne of God. Pablo

We learned then that war was not a quick heroic charge but a slow, incredibly complicated matter.

In the wet hay of leaking barns babies were born to women who panted with pneumonia. And old people curled up in corners and died that way, so that the coroners could not straighten them. At night frantic men walked boldly to hen roosts and carried off the squawking chickens. If they were shot at, they did not run, but splashed sullenly away; and if they were hit, they sank tiredly in the mud.

She shook her head slowly from side to side. "I'm jus' pain covered with skin.

He used it to haul squids and he liked a fresh breeze to blow in his face. His name was Francis Almones and he had a sad life, for he always made just a fraction less than he needed to live.

Yes, I can understand that. It must be a hard thing to kill a man you don't know and don't hate." "Maybe that makes it easier," said Louis. "You have a point, Louis. But some men are friends with the whole world in their hearts, and there are others that hate themselves and spread their hatred around like butter on hot bread.

Let any gay and hopeful thing happen to a man, and some chicken goes howling to the block.