Quotes About Struggle

Did you cry?" "No. I didn't cry ... I just kept thinking that when human beings get that way, they're no good for anything.

Nothing was so hard for me to understand, so baffling, and at the same time so filled with menacing overtones as the commonplace remark, "Human beings work to earn their bread, for if they don't eat, they die.

Disqualified as a human being. I had now ceased utterly to be a human being.

I suddenly wondered whether Mother might not actually be happy now, whether the sensation of happiness might not be something like faintly glittering gold sunken at the bottom of the river of sorrow. The feeling of that strange pale light when once on as exceeded all the bounds of unhappiness - if that can be called a sensation of happiness, the Emperor, my mother, and even I myself may be said to be happy now.

For the first time in my life I realized what a horrible, miserable, salvationless hell it is to be without money.

I have no choice. I am a person with no reason to live. I know my lot. Yes, it would be great to die one day sooner.

At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.

I drew with extremely excessively depressed emotions, deliberately penning each line, only to earn money for drink.

And yet, in some instances… No, I don't even know that… The more I think of it, the less I understand. All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it?— I don't know.

Despair is impossible in humans. They often are deceived by hope, but are also deceived by the notion of despair.

A man crushed by reality puts on a show of endurance. If that's beyond your comprehension, dear reader, then you and I will never understand each other. Life's a farce, so we might as well make it a good one. But real life is a realm that I may never reach. The best that I can hope for is to loiter in the memory of these four days, so steeped with empathy. Four days that count more than five or ten years of my life. Four days that count more than a lifetime.

I wonder if I have ever actually been happy. People have told me, really more times than I can remember, ever since I was a small boy, how lucky I was, but I have always felt as if I were suffering in hell. It has seemed to me in fact that those who called me lucky were incomparably more fortunate than I.

Nobody in the world understood our suffering. In time, when we became adults, we might look back on this pain and loneliness as a funny thing, perfectly ordinary, but—but how were we expected to get by, to get through this interminable period of time until that point when we were adults? There was no one to teach us how. Was there nothing to do but leave us alone, like we had the measles? But people died from the measles, or went blind. You couldn't just leave them alone.

spread my usual smokescreen of farce. "They say that love flies out the window when poverty comes in the door, but people generally get the sense backwards. It doesn't mean that when a man's money runs out he's shaken off by women. When he runs out of money, he naturally is in the dumps. He's no good for anything. The strength goes out of his laugh, he becomes strangely soured. Finally, in desperation, he shakes off the woman.

Falling asleep is such a strange feeling. It's like a carp or an eel is tugging on a fishing line, or something heavy like a lead weight is pulling on the line that I'm holding with my head, and as I doze off to sleep, the line slackens up a bit. When that happens, it startles me back to awareness. Then it pulls me again. I doze off to sleep. The line loosens a bit again. This goes on three or four times, and then, with the first really big tug, this time it lasts until morning.

People have told me, really more times that I can remember, ever since I was a small boy, how lucky I was, but I have always felt as if I were suffering in hell.

I wonder if I have actually been happy. People have told me, really more times than I can remember, ever since I was a small boy, how lucky I was, but I have always felt as if I were suffering in hell.

I have always shook with fright before human beings. Unable I was in my ability to speak and act like a human being, I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast. I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be left exposed.

I have suffered much at the hands of human society. Forgive me if I seem overly suspicious.

I have frantically played the clown in order to disentangle myself from these painful relationships, only to wear myself out as a result.

It may be true that in any society defective types with low vitality like myself are doomed to perish, not because of what they think or anything else, but because of themselves. I have, however, some slight excuse to offer. I feel the overwhelming pressure of circumstances which make it extremely difficult for me to live.

Human beings never submit to human beings

To be alive. To be alive. An intolerably immense undertaking before which one can only gasp in apprehension.

The clash between rich and poor is a hackneyed enough subject, but I am now convinced that it really is one of the eternal themes of drama.