Quotes About Struggle

That sometimes you don't get over something. You just get through it.

It was a kiss perfect in length and pressure and emotion, but unlike in the movies it didn't make everything all better.

Perfection is too high a goal to strive for. Sometimes working hard brings more satisfaction in the end. We appreciate what we've almost lost more than what we've never doubted.

Sometimes, you ruined things and couldn't fix them.

That was the thing about water under a bridge. It could get caught up in a bunch of debris, or it could sweep everything away, leaving nothing behind; it all depended on the ferocity of the storm.

No hay nada que merezca la pena y sea fácil a la vez.

I'm still the girl who sat in the front of the class, ready to answer all the teacher's questions. I just lost most of the answers somewhere along the way. Dan didn't make

At thirty-six, Margaret believed her "mind and character" were already "too much formed" through "a liberal communion with the woful struggling crowd of fellow men." She had instead worked for a living and reaped the "fruits of spiritual knowledge" these past ten years, seeking common cause with the laborer, the immigrant, the prostitute.

It was Waldo Emerson who would stay, bound to his "imperfect" marriage "because he dont believe in any thing better," and unable to forget Margaret, who, he would realize with increasing gratitude in later years, with her "radiant genius & fiery heart was perhaps the real centre that drew so many & so various individuals to a seeming union.

I know it makes sense for me and him to just break up now and just live our seperate lives and not have to worry about missing each other all the time. But when I think about that, I get sick. Physically sick. Like I seriously throw up. I need to be with him, even if I can't, like, be with him.

Shit happens and its awful but its okay. We deal with it because we havet to.

But I can't help myself. And there he is, larger than life on the screen, looking every bit as tortured and handsome as he did the last time he tried to contact me a few weeks ago. (Harmony/Jondoe)

Right now I feel guilty to be alive. Why? Because I'm wasting it. I've been given this life and all I do is mope it away. What's worse is, I am totally aware of how ridiculous I am. It would be a lot easier if I believed I was the center of the universe, because then I wouldn't know any better not to make a big deal out of everything. I know how small my problems are, yet that doesn't stop me from obsessing about them. I have to stop doing this.

Life - such as it is - always seems to get in the way

Please, please, please, I silently ask a God who should have stopped listening to me long ago.

Happy entries in my journal do not exist. Or if they do, they end abruptly with scenes and sentences left unfinished because they are too gushy in a way that is disturbing and sick and foreign.

Bad things can happen to anyone at any time, whether you follow the rules or not.

It is unbelievable the amount of hate the human body can sustain before it begins to break.

There will be glimpses of hope, shards of refracted light at the Cross when Jesus is crucified, but on the way there is very little. Sobering, yet truthful. We are reminded that others who have sought hope and freedom have had to endure without much to go on, too.

I know it's so hard to stay open when you feel like closing.

wrestling with a curiosity about country living that seemed strangely akin to a homophobic person "struggling with same-sex attraction." As much as I wanted to be a creature of the city, as much as I'd organized my entire life around the overpriced, undersized vagaries of Manhattan living, I sometimes found myself wanting desperately to live on a farm, or at least near one.

In the five years it took me to come to my conclusion, I endured intense anxiety, self-doubt, sorrow, and a great deal of ambivalence about my future.

If you were a girl who loved above all to read and write and who could not imagine an adulthood in which these activities did not hold a central place, you probably knew even before puberty that you were headed for conflict.

I was stunned by the way my mother's body was being taken to pieces, how each new week brought a new failure, how surreal the disintegration of a body was.