Quotes About Struggle

Unhand me, gentlemen,By heaven! I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

If I can catch him once upon the hip,I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

Apothecary: My poverty, but not my will, consents.Romeo: I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratched.

I'll queen it no inch further,But milk my ewes and weep.

And sometimes we are devils to ourselvesWhen we will tempt the frailty of our powers,Presuming on their changeful potency.

I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.

Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be untilGreat Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hillShall come against him.

To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke.

Beggars mounted run their horse to death.

The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, adieu!Which is the side that I must go withal?I am with both: each army hath a hand;And in their rage, I having hold of both,They whirl asunder and dismember me.

Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,To make my small elves coats.

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.All men make faults.

Never yet did insurrection wantSuch water-colors to impaint his cause.

A grievous burden was thy birth to me;Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy.

This is the nightThat either makes me or fordoes me quite.

O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;Or that the Everlasting had not fix'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world.

A little fire is quickly trodden out,Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.

What fates impose, that men must needs abide;It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

William Shakespeare

But mice and rats and such small deerHave been Tom's food for seven long year.