Quotes About Struggle

Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.

The best kind of charity is to help those who are willing to help themselves. Promiscuous almsgiving, without inquiring into the worthiness of the applicant, is bad in every sense. But to search out and quietly assist those who are struggling for themselves, is the kind that "scattereth and yet increaseth.

My mama told me don't trust no white boy, even a pretty one. I'm thinkin' a pretty white boy with wings explodin' up from the ground in a mess of blood and ugly-ass bird things is double trouble." - Kramisha (Ch 5)

For thirty millennia, three thousand years on Rathillien alone, the Kencyrath had fought the long retreat from world to world, down the Chain of Creation, waiting for their god to manifest himself through them in final battle. Chosen they were and proud, but bitter, too, over long delay, and angry that, the task being set, their god had apparently left them to accomplish it alone.

But I found it wasn't so easy to just turn off a crush when I wanted to. I vaguely remembered some quote I'd read in English class about the flesh being willing, even when the spirit wasn't.

Do you know what it's like to absolutely, positively, and wholeheartedly hate yourself? Let me say something nice (for a change): I hope not.

Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.

I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, but I have my off moments.

You spend a decade thinking about the 2000 Olympics and they are nothing more than an elusive possibility, a faint light on the horizon's edge. Now they stand right in front of you. Press out, follow through, head down, stretch to the wall. Touch first or second. A missed taper would be damnation. A third place would be agony unlike any other.

There are no nonsmokers in this business. Just people trying to quit, and people who haven't started yet.

Suffer the dark, go to the light whenever it's there.

Happy endings were few and far between, and all too often, families lived in a hellish limbo for months or years, constantly searching for answers and closure they might never

As she had learned these past few years, things changed—life, people, animals—all without your permission, no matter how zealously you fought to maintain supreme control.

We all walk around with holes in our hearts. But we still walk around.

Life is a competition, but it is not a race against anyone else. The real journey is against yourself and the true victory is being able to maintain your humanity.

I have defeat tattooed in my DNA. My great-uncle was shot dead. My grandfather was given the death sentence and spent five years in jail. My grandmothers suffered the humiliation of those defeated in the Civil War. My father was put in jail. My mother was politically active in the underground. It bothers me enormously to lose, I can't stand it. And I've spent many years, with some friends, devoting almost all of our political activity to thinking about how we can win.

alumbrar la nueva era tiene enfrente, siempre, el freno descomunal de los privilegiados.

Treacherousgenerals:look at my dead house,look at broken Spain.

there are so many people deadand so many sea-walls that the red sun used to split,and so many heads that the boats hit,and so many hands that have closed around kisses,and so many things I would like to forget.

Painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war for attack and defense against the enemy.

Al caer en el charco, estaba casi muerto. La mano se hundió en el agua sucia y trató de asir algo, de detener algo, de impedir que algo se fuera. Luego, quedó inmóvil. Un hombre se acercó y pateó su cara dos veces. Se subieron a los coches y se fueron. Sobre el cadáver de Héctor Belascoarán Shayne, siguió lloviendo.

En lugar del padre nuestro, los ateos del D.F. amanecemos con la retahíla de: sálvame mano de esta pinche cloaca en que me metiste, protégeme de la bola de ojetes que quieren acabar con nosotros, sálvame de la ley y sus guardianes.

El cadáver de Gustavo tenía treinta y siete heridas. Había en sus bolsillos sesenta y tres pesos, tres cartas de su esposa Carolina y un libro de apuntes cuya última frase era: «Todo está perdido. Los soldados no quieren pelear».

que busca la verdad da un chingo de lata, pero su fin justifica las molestias…