Quotes About Struggle

A culpa foi minha. Por ter desejado ser o que jamais poderia ser. A culpa é do mundo, que me ensinou a odiar.

The real bummer of fame is that at some point you're bound to get demoted.

He said it was an "opportunity to excel," which basically meant the job sucked and no one else wanted to do it.

An artist must either give up art or develop.

Her freedom was worse than any chains.

He watched her leave with mixed feelings. His heart wanted to trust her, but his head and his gut told him he couldn't.

Dear God, Tatiana prayed in bed that night, turning to the wall and pulling the white sheet and the thin brown blanket over herself. If You are there somewhere, please teach me how to hide what I never knew how to show.

Alexander knew that before he had light instead of darkness, he had to deserve light instead of darkness.

We thought the hard part was over—but we were wrong. Living is the hardest part. Figuring out how to live your life when you're all busted up inside and out—there is nothing harder.

I know that sometimes the things we carry become too much for us. We are burned down, but somehow we have to pick ourselves up and keep going

Here I am, your one man circus freak show, having bled out for mother Russia, having desperately tried to get to you, now on top of you with this scourge marks, and you, who used to love me, who was sympathized, internalized, normalized everything, you are not allowed to turn away from me....this is what I am going to look like until the day I die. I can't get any peace from you ever unless you find away to make peace with this. Make peace with me. Or let me go for good.

Es que no te acuerdas de lo que te dije en Berlín, cuando estábamos perdidos en el bosque, luchando para rebelarnos contra nuestro destino? —Sí —le contestó Tatiana, rodeándole el cuello con las manos, cerrando los ojos—. Dijiste que ya me habías dejado marchar una vez, que viviríamos juntos o moriríamos juntos. —Eso es —dijo Alexander—. Y esta vez, viviremos juntos.

Alexander, me has roto el corazón. Pero por haberme llevado a tu espalda, por tirar de mi trineo de muerte, por darme tu último pedazo de pan, por el cuerpo que te destrozaste por mí, por el hijo que me has dado, por los veintinueve días que vivimos en el paraíso, por todas nuestras arenas blancas de Naples y nuestros vinos de Napa, por todos los días que has sido mi primer y mi último aliento, por Orbeli... Te perdonaré.

War was the ultimate chaos, a pounding, soul-destroying snarl, ending in blown-apart men lying unburied on the cold earth. There was nothing more cosmically chaotic than war.

Tatiana knew that she belonged irrevocably to Alexander. She thought she could extricate herself from him, that she could go on with her life somehow, that he could go on with is. It was all a sham. This wasn't a way of getting over a passing crush on your older sister's swain. This was the moon of Jupiter and the sun of Venus aligning in the sky over her head.

I just don't know how I'm going to survive you, Tatiana.

they say, he's mine, and you say, all right, all right, he's yours, of course, take him. Nothing matters to me at all. Not me, not my food, not my bread, not my life, and not him either, nothing matters to me." "I ,Tatiana, fight for nothing

All great things worth having require great sacrifice worth giving.

Alexander was suffocating under the weight of his love.

The struggle doesn't end just because you know the way. That's when it's only beginning.

I can't do it," Tatiana said "I can't walk down the streets of our life with you." "I know." They turned back to the reflections in the mirror.

What does it mean to be human, to be good, to be moral, to be all three at once? It means that flawed beings often must choose between two flawed options.

Te volveré loca —gritó su memoria cuando Tatiana se sentó a respirar la brisa salada de la eternidad en el alféizar de la ventana—. Andarás sonriente por la calle como una mujer normal, pero en tu interior te retorcerás como en la hoguera. No te liberaré, nunca serás libre.»

La memoria... esa cruel enemiga del consuelo.