Quotes About Struggle

Soportó la maternidad, el club-jardín y los cócteles. Compartió el café de la mañana con la mujer de la limpieza y el coñac de medianoche con su marido, confundiendo la lujuria de borracho con la reconciliación. El mundo crecía a su alrededor: hijo tras hijo surgieron de entre sus piernas [...] Ella alimentaba al mundo pero no era alimentada por él

When he strays from straddling the mane of weeds, brambles rake his painted sides.

What kind of second-rate grief is it that permits them to walk?

It's the truth. It just felt like the whole business was fetching and hauling, all the time trying to hold this mess together she was making all the time.

He must try to stop swearing; he wonders why he's doing it. To keep them apart, maybe; he feels a dangerous tug drawing him toward this man.

Fate has al­ways been a po­tent force in Rus­sia, where, for gen­er­ations, cit­izens have had lit­tle con­trol over their own des­tinies. Fate can be a bitch, but, as Za­it­sev, Dvornik, and Onofre­cuk had dis­cov­ered, it can al­so be a tiger.

Markov died while trying to fit a small, slippery shotgun shell into a narrow gun barrel, in the dark, at thirty below zero—with a tiger bearing down on him from ten yards away.

Resistance is futile.

I guess sometimes you just have to fight your battles.

Whilst wretched Man is still in Arms for fear For fear he armes, and is of Armes afraid.

The heights by great men reached and kept, Were not attained by sudden flight. But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night." –Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The teams that compete at the highest level love the thrill of the contest. They may have winning in their heads, but they have a love for the effort and struggle in their hearts.

Brod's life was a slow realizaton that the world was not for her,and that for whatever reason,she would never be happy and honest at the same time.She felt as if she were brimming,always producing and hoarding more love inside her.But there was no release.

Let me tell you, Mr. teacher when you say you'll make me right, in five hundred years of fighting not one Indian turned white

If this were a movie I'd be the bad guy.

Well, I'd love to wear a rainbow everyday and tell the world that everything's okay / But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back / 'Til things are brighter, I'm the man in black.

That he would pause In his killing To go about the business Of preparing for the living Knowing That he will immediately return To the business of killing?

We're all damaged in our own way. Nobody's perfect. I think we're all somewhat screwy. Every single one of us.

Under a low sun, pursued by fish and mounted by crows and veiled in a loud swarm of bluebottle flies, the body comes down the river like a deadfall stripped clean.

He is between worlds, this boy. Between the river and the town, between the hogshead and the house, between the taint of his mother and the stain of his pap. He knows some things that he can never say, not even to himself.

The situation is unendurable, and yet he endures.

Can you be happy when you are unhappy?

Her past seems a span of innocuous days. And her nights? Her most dramatic recurring dream in recent nights was one in which she had difficulty opening a jar of peanut butter.

...I believe that doubts, honestly expressed and wrestled with, produce a faith that is stronger and more intimate than doubts suppressed under the veneer of faith.