Quotes About Struggle

writing, at its heart, is a solitary pursuit, designed to make people depressoids, drug addicts, misanthropes, and antisocial weirdos

In my heart, I believe that I am a passionate and intuitive cook who could make a five-course meal without even looking at a recipe. I feel I have the flash and charismatic personality of a famous chef, the fiery tenacity of Gordon Ramsay, and the soulful sexuality of Tom Colicchio. The problem is that I lack all basic skill. For instance, my dad had to come over to show me how to turn my oven on. It is sad when your hopes and your abilities do not line up. I

It's weird when you feel your dream slipping away from you. Especially when you have no other dreams. I was surprised that my overwhelming feeling was not sadness; it was terror. What on earth am I going to do now?

depression is something that I've come to accept from my creative community and I realize that's probably alien to most people. I don't know why the funniest people I know are also depressed.

Lots of stupid people were skinny, and yet I couldn't do this incredibly simple thing they could do with seeming ease.

at that point I was missing my mother viscerally, painfully. When I was pregnant, I had enough time to visualize taking care of my daughter without a husband. That was easy. Most of my friends' husbands don't even change diapers. But not having a mom around to support me was torture. It felt especially cosmically mean that my mother had been an obstetrician and gynecologist and I'd had a tough delivery.

Hard work is such a weird thing. As children and teenagers you are told it's a really good thing, but for adults it suddenly becomes the worst thing in the world.

can that be? You're not in good shape. And that is true! But this is the paradox of my life. I love running because it puts me in an instant good mood, and I think I read on the back of a box of Cheerios that it's good for my heart. But I also love alcohol, fast-food hamburgers, and eating gluten. So it's a perilous teeter-totter that I am trying to get away with until my doctors tell me I'm in trouble.

Fueling my fight against my dad's wishes was my enormous dislike of bikes. Bikes were horrible. Bikes always seemed to be scratching against my legs, or the spoke was poking me or something. Pebbles ended up in my ankle socks when I was on a bike. The seat felt sharp and hurt my crotch. The bike represented everything annoying and uncomfortable in my young life.

When you're that low on the totem pole, you sometimes think you're so unimportant that no one can hear you.

I don't have that kind of confidence. My voice is loud and piercing, and I project like I was once told by a doctor during a childhood illness that I would never speak again.

There are more than a thousand people in one square mile of this studio who would kill to have this job. Get your ass up off the floor and go back into that writers' room, you weakling. Then I get up, pour myself a generous glass of whiskey and club soda, think about the sustained grit of my parents, and go back to work. I know that made me sound like a tortured alcoholic, like Don Draper, but I swear I'm not.

My mom and I have always had issues.

When you're down and don't think you can get back up, when you've been crying so hard there isn't any more tears, when you're so mad you've broken three things, just remember: when Christ died for you, He claimed you as his own.

So we support the dance but it does not support us.

I lay there alone for hours, crying my eyes out. I was still trying to rationalize the relationship: Why can't I let things just stay as they are? What difference does it make if he's married? But the fact is it did matter. I refused to be second best any longer.

Her worst terrors came during the night. She could believe in herself in daylight, but alone in the pitch-blackness of the cellar she doubted her very existence. However hard she strained to see the walls and the floor, even her hand before her face, there was only darkness. And the darkness was more alive than she was.

There is no utopia. There never will be. There is only the valiant attempt of each person to live spiritually in a world where spirituality is almost impossible.

The path is difficult to ensure worthiness. The lazy look elsewhere, The persevering find riches.

There is an underbelly of terror to all life. It is suffering, it is hurt. Deep within all of us are intense fears that have left few of us whole. Life's terrors haunt us, attack us, leave ugly cuts. To buffer ourselves, we dwell on beauty, we collect things, we fall in love, we desperately try to make something lasting in our lives. We take beauty as the only worthwhile thing in this existence, but it cannot veil cursing, violence, randomness, and injustice.

To be an immigrant Is to be solitary in the midst of millions.

Atmink viena: likimo mes negalim ?veikti, bet galim jam nesipriešinti ir gauti iš to visa, kas ?manoma.

The only way through this reality is to fight.

Tinc ancorades a no sé quin port les barques del retorn, i m'avindria potser a desarborar-ne tots els pals a canvi de no res, perquè ara ja no em sedueix intensament cap ruta i em fa falta ben poc per sobreviure.