Quotes About Struggle

You don't belong here, Miss Kimble. You're completely in over your head. Learn to swim, or drown. Those are your only choices when it comes to the Sullivans. Now,

My inheritance had become available, my aunt—my only champion—had been killed, and my uncle had been given power over my person and my money.

doesn't he come for us? Why does he want us to be poor?

He wished he knew how they did it. Even planning for the next day was beyond his capabilities. He didn't understand how to think that way, how to plan, and he wanted to. He wanted to understand how people mapped out their lives, how they went so easily through a day. How they managed to keep from destroying the people around them, destroying themselves. He looked down at his arm, at the too-smooth stump, the thick pink ridge of scar. Christ, how did they do it? How did Genie do it?

Joseph wore uncertainty poorly; it seemed to somehow misshape him. I heard in it everything he hid from the world, his own sense of worthlessness, the fear behind his ego.

Sometimes I think I'll never really belong anywhere, or trust anyone. I think I need to learn how to stop caring about that." "You can't decide not to care," Sean said. "You can only control your response." "Is that really possible?" I asked. "It really is," he said. "It even starts to get a little bit easier." "Really?" My voice sounded like a stranger's. "When?

Sometimes," Joe said after a bit, "it's just easier to keep being what everyone expects you to be. Even if that's what you're not, anymore.

Sometimes," he said after a second that lasted a million years, "things get broken. And they can't be fixed.

Does madness bring creativity? Or does creativity cause madness? Can an artist create without the ups so high and the downs so low?

It's okay to struggle to find our place in this world and the person who will take us for who and what we are. Sometimes we dress ourselves in layers that only get peeled away in the end, to leave us as we should be.

He was quiet. I said nothing, hoping that maybe, for once, he'd stop pretending he was okay. Then I could, too. That we could both forget the roles that had so long bound us.

My head's filled up with all the reasons it won't work. And I keep running the figures, over and over, but I can't seem to come up with an answer.

The well of my heart is a very deep place, and at the bottom, it's dark. He was my ocean, and I didn't know if I would drown until I learned how well I could swim.

No matter how hard you worked, there was always going to be somebody out there who thought you were fuckup.

Knowing what you need doesn't always mean you know how to get it, though. I'd spent a long time hiding in my cave. No matter how much I might want to come out into the light, I knew it would hurt my eyes. I was a fool. A fool, but nevertheless too smart not to know I was the architect of my own demise, that it was time to put my past behind me. It was time to stop allowing the white elephants to stand unspoken of in my living room.

I know I shouldn't feel guilty for being angry sometimes, or bitter" "Knowing something is beans.

He had been her sun, the star she circled endlessly. Helpless against the gravity she'd been unable to fight. She'd flown too close and melted her wings made of wax. She'd fallen. Maybe she'd never been meant to fly.

Peace, hands and mouth smeared with chocolate pudding, blinks and says nothing. Happy frowns. Bliss, firmly ensconced on Liesel's hip, babbles something so cute and precious it would be nice to take a second to appreciate it, but Liesel is caught between her genuine and somewhat frightening fury and her shame at realizing that she's turned into everything she swore she'd never be.

All the best art comes from the broken places,

I didn't emerge from the cocoon of my past to become an uninhibited, emotionally healthy butterfly. Nothing is ever that easy. Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

Desire didn't always mean a choice was easier to make. Sometimes it was harder, because it meant so much more.

I got it together, of course. I always did. I pushed away what shamed me and made me unhappy, and I smoothed out the rest to make a pretty, perfect surface. It was getting harder and harder to do.

Heath said, cold as ice, cold as a void, so cold it burned her worse than any fire. "Don't you know? Not wanting to and not being able to are not the same things.

I'm not dense. It was a power struggle with a veneer of shiny.