Quotes About Struggle

My head is full of monsters and I'm one of them.

Chasing a burning girl down a city street is a lot harder than it sounds. Civilians tend to stop and stare and this turns them into human bowling pins. Slow whiny bowling pins.

You can take the boy out of the Devil but not the Devil out of the boy

Sometimes just seeing a woman smile is like a knife in the heart. It hurts and it rattles your whole system, but against all your instincts you swallow the pain and keep looking. After a while you realize it doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would.

The things we do to stay alive for another year. Another day. Another hour. The deals we make with the universe and ourselves. You start to feel dirty.

I can deal with fighting in the arena in Hell, but laundry and dishes put the fear of God in me.

Let me tell you, having cancer sucks, but being broke and having cancer is the shittiest fate that can land on a human being.

Hell, boy. At some point, all fathers want to kill their sons. Just like all sons think about killing their old man. They're too much alike or they're not enough alike. It doesn't matter. What's beautiful is that they don't do it.

You can't kill everything bad and you can't save everyone good." "I'm not sure who the good ones are anymore." "Yes you are. Because you're one. It's just sometimes hard to admit to oneself." "Fuck.

When you live with a dead man's head that won't shut up and smokes all your cigarettes, the only way to deal with the awfulness is to make it so unbelievably awful that it becomes kind of weirdly beautiful. Like an exploding giraffe full of fireworks.

I want to say that I'm not doing this because you tried to kill me. I want to be bigger and better than that. But I'm not. I'm doing this because you tried to kill me.

The five of us are the big brains supposedly in charge of Hell. Really, we're a bunch of second-rate mechanics trying to keep the wheels from coming off a burning gasoline truck skidding toward a school bus full of orphans and kittens.

I got my ass kicked by some third-rate spooks and now my nice kitchen looks like a drunk brontosaurus tried to fuck the dishwasher.

Whoever said Hell is other people was wrong. Hell is other people in your house .

What I do know is that a famous dead guy once said, "Life is a bucket of shit with a barbed-wire handle.

Reality is a two-ton weight strapped to your balls. And they just keep getting heavier.

Your image of yourself is one of a beast. A benevolent one, but a beast nonetheless. As much as this might pain you, it is also easy and familiar. It allows you to do away with deeper emotions.

Perfect. Another B-movie dream sequence to start the day. Why can't I ever win in these things? Instead, it's always some Jacob's Ladder outtake, and I want to talk to the director because the script needs a rewrite.

Because someone owes me for it. Every second I was there. Every beating. Every bad habit and every shitty dream.

On the TV, some poor Indian has just died hauling Fitzcarraldo's boat over the mountain. The Indian's friends are gathered around his body, but Fitz is screaming for them to keep pulling his boat. He's the hero of the story and he's completely nuts. This isn't going to have a happy ending.

Learning is miserable. People are awful. Worrying about them is the worst.

Thanks, but sometimes I think my sins are the only thing holding me together

I sit there on the bed feeling foolish and angry and completely confused by the world. After the craziness last night, I thought that today I might get a day off from the shitstorm. But, if anything, the situation is even worse.

No one's going to look out for us but us. We're just bugs on God's windshield. You need to get serious and work with me on this or we're both going to end up in Tartarus.