Quotes About Struggle

It is a frightening and huge thought," I said, "that the ninety-nine percent of us wandering around down here are having our lives pushed and pulled around by that psychopathic fraction up there." "It

Race is there. You're tire of hearing about it? Imagine how fucking exhausting it is living it.

Those fighting to be included in the ideal of equality are not divisive. Those fighting to keep those people out - are.

People ask, "Why is there poverty in the world?" It's a silly question. Poverty is the default human condition. It is the factory preset of this mortal coil.

Handicapped with my own melancholy

But there's another story, A real short one, probably written on my grave: couldn't stay sober. Never liked himself.

If you are a success in life, there are places you must go and pay to be humiliated. It is an unwritten law that human beings must be tormented throughout their lives in one way or another. If you are fortunate enough to have risen to a social level where no one does it to you for free, then you must pay for the service.

I started a short story but it was so dreary that even my pen threw up.

If it was as logical as that, I wouldn't continue to feel as bad as I do. I know what you're saying, and you're absolutely right in a way. But logic and rationality only go so far. Then you know what happens? Ha! Then your heart adds its two cents and everything reasonable goes right-out-the-window.

Well, he and his wife had both been devout evangelicals for a while. They had these two kids and then she had an incredible job giving birth to the next one. The upshot was that she lost her religion - with a vengeance - and walked out on him, taking these three daughters with her. Faith, Hope and Brenda.

It had been almost 7 o'clock, the end of a long working day. Of course he should've been at home with Emily by then, but that evening - as on many other evenings - he had told her that he needed to work late, not so that he could slip away and spend a few hours with his mistress (Benjamin would never have a mistress), but so that he could snatch 30 minutes solitude alone with a book and his thoughts before coming home to the deeper, more oppressive solitude of his shared domestic life.

And so they sit at home, getting fat on the proceedings and here we all are. Our businesses are failing, our jobs disappearing, our countryside choking, our hospitals crumbling, our homes being repossessed, our bodies being poisoned, our minds shutting down, the whole bloody spirit of the country crushed and fighting for breath. I hate the Winshaws, Fiona. Just look what they've done to us. Look what they've done to you.

E così loro stanno tranquilli nelle loro case a rimpinguare profitti, e noi siamo tutti qui. I nostri affari sono un fallimento, i posti di lavoro si assottigliano, gli ospedali vanno a pezzi, le campagne sono allo stremo, le nostre case confiscate, i nostri corpi avvelenati, le nostre menti all'ammasso, tutto lo spirito vitale del paese è straziato, ridotto all'ultimo respiro

If ever I'm disheartened by failures such as these, I simply reflect on my humble beginnings and marvel at the enormous distance I have travelled since then.

Save some pity for the Misfit, fighting on with bursting heart; Not a trace of common sense, his is no common flight. Save, save him some pity. But save the greater part For him that sees no glimmer of the Misfit's guiding light.

All you need, you think, is a breather, a few minutes standing up at the bar like in the old days, having a harmless bottle of beer. Only the bottle of beer isn't harmless; it's a trigger. It sets off that crazy thing in your mind that made you a dipso in the first place...

I don't like painting flowers in my music. I like painting guts and pain

From love arises hatred of those things which are contrary to what we love, or which oppose and thwart us in those things that we delight in.

Each new thing he encountered in life impelled him in a direction that fully convinced him of its rightness, but then the next new thing loomed up and impelled him in the opposite direction, which also felt right. There was no controlling narrative: he seemed to himself a purely reactive pinball in a game whose only object was to stay alive for staying alive's sake.

I find it a huge strain to be responsible for my tastes and be known and defined by them.

He and his wife loved each other and brought each other daily pain. Everything else he was doing in his life, even his longing for Lalitha, amounted to little more than flight from circumstance. He and Patty couldn't live together and couldn't imagine living apart. Each time he thought they'd reached the unbearable breaking point, it turned out that there was still further they could go without breaking.

And this of course, was the simplest definition of depression that he knew of: strongly disliking yourself.

She had all day every day to figure out some decent and satisfying way to live, and yet all she ever seemed to get for all her choices and all her freedom was more miserable. The autobiographer is almost forced to the conclusion that she pitied herself for being so free.

You encountered a misery near the end of the day and it took a while to gauge its full extent. Some miseries had sharp curvature and could be negotiated readily. Others had almost no curvature and you knew you'd be spending hours turning the corner. Great whopping-big planet-sized miseries.