Quotes About Struggle

Why? she asked urgently. Why me? Because, he murmured, you draw me. Because you are kind but not soft. Because you cradle a desperate secret to your bosom, like a viper in your arms, and don't let go of it even as it gnaws on your very flesh. I want to pry that viper from your arms. To take that pain within myself and make it mine.

It would be the height of idiocy for the Duke of Wakefield to pursue the cousin of the woman he wanted as wife. And yet, for the first time in his life, Maximus wanted to let the man rule him instead of the title.

She was lost. He broke their kiss and laid his forehead against hers. "Make me stop." "I can't," she whispered. "Then… we're doomed," he said, his voice husky and low.

His nostrils flared just a little bit, and the lines bracketing his mouth grew deeper. He snarled with his beautiful, twisted lips and she thought, half on the edge of falling again, she thought he looked like a demon making love to her. A demon fighting for his life or light or possibly redemption.

He had no money or influence here. The clothes on his back were ragged, his moccasins were worn, and he was skeletally thin from lack of food and walking. But he would sail on a ship bound for England even if he had to scrub the decks to pay his way. He was Reynaud St. Aubyn, the Viscount of Hope, and by God or the devil, he was going home.

God.' She'd tasted of oranges and honey and he'd felt her shake beneath his hands. He'd wanted to strip her right there in the carriage with his men riding outside. She was driving him mad. He couldn't look at her anymore without feeling the pull. And yet he could not send her away- everything inside him rebelled at the thought. She had to stay with him so that he could protect her. So that she could illuminate his darkness just a little.

And why should I do such a thing- tell you something that can only dismay you? Well, that is the nature of love: it is brutal in its demands.

In your country you don't care about history, and in my country we cannot recover from it.

Then draw everything. Do a hundred drawings a day,' he said fiercely. 'And remember that it's a hellish life.

It was the beginning of that long bifurcation that became my life: Obey and hate yourself, survive. Disobey, redeem yourself, perish.

But sometimes a man who is very good thinks, I am very bad, and it—destructs his life, everything. Because he does not believe that he has any right to do something, so he does less and less.

It was the beginning of that long bifurcation that became my life: Obey and hate yourself, survive. Disobey, redeem yourself, perish. I thought later how simply and quickly they had introduced that concept to me, as easily as breaking a little finger.

People seem to believe that despair is the same as anguish, but it is not. It's true that despair is surrounded by anguish, but at its core, despair is silent, a blank page.

Obey and hate yourself, survive. Disobey, redeem yourself, perish.

If my conscience had been a person at that moment, I might have strangled him.

What started out as wishful thinking, angel given signs from above, was now just an imprisoned lot of dirty, broken pieces that used to belong to beautifully glistening wholes.

How strange that the nature of life is change, yet the nature of human beings is to resist change. And how ironic that the difficult times we fear might ruin us are the very ones that can break us open and help us blossom into who we were meant to be.

Over and over, we are broken on the shore of life. Our stubborn egos are knocked around, and our frightened hearts are broken open—not once, and not in predictable patterns, but in surprising ways and for as long as we live.

what feels like such a painful loss now will become something beautiful later on. You cannot escape your destiny. You can certainly try. People do so every day. They hold on tight, and the river just dries up.

grief looks like nothing from the outside, it looks like surrender, but in fact it is the most terrible struggle. It is friction. It is a spiritual grinding, and who's to say it cannot produce a spark and heat that, given fuel could burn a good man to the ground.

No creo que Dios haga que pasen cosas malas sólo para que la gente pueda crecer espiritualmente.

She could not think about it Ã¢â'¬Â¦ any of it Ã¢â'¬Â¦ without going to pieces.

what was she like? she loved him, really loved him then, for an instant. this, this was easier.

The oppressed are sometimes the most rabid of oppressors (119).