Quotes About Struggle

What is man? A bridge between the ape and the Superman — a bridge over an abyss. — F.W. Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra

Don't you think we all go a little mad sometimes? —Psycho

Domesticated primates battle not only over physical territories but over these mental or neurosemantic territories: York versus Lancaster becomes the Red Rose versus the White. Communism versus Free

The whole speed scene is pretty sad. Some go through a period where they get stuck in the same fantasies over and over again. The trip can take several years, but there are a lot of people who have been through it and finally come out the other side. It doesn't seem to have the lifelong addictive properties of heroin.

This is why Stephen tells the fatuous Englishman, Haines, that the Irish artist is the servant of two masters—the imperial British State and the Roman Catholic Church. In this sense also, the dead live: the Irish writer of Joyce's day made his obedience to the dead invaders and traitors who made Ireland a colony of Rome and of England, or else he was forced to choose Joyce's path of exile: as did Shaw and O'Casey and Beckett and a dozen lesser lights along with Joyce.

REALITY" IS THE TEMPORARY RESULTANT OF CONTINUOUS STRUGGLES BETWEEN RIVAL GANGS OF PROGRAMMERS.

Opiates and small doses of alcohol seem to trigger neuro-transmitters characteristic of Circuit I breast-fed tranquility. Large doses of alcohol often reverse this and trigger neuro-transmitters characteristic of territorial struggle. Note the anal vocabulary of hostile drunks as their alcoholic intake increases. ~•~

It was a bright day, but cold, and the whores had emerged, working the Combat Zone, looking cold and bizarre in their miniskirts, boots, and blond wigs. Being seductive at twenty degrees was heavy going, I thought. Being horny at twenty degrees wasn't all that easy either.

Businessmen learn the way businessmen are supposed to be. Professors learn the way professors are supposed to be. Construction workers learn how construction workers are supposed to be. They spend their lives trying to be what they're supposed to be and being scared they aren't. Quiet desperation.

The ways of the Lord," I said, "are often dark, but never pleasant." "Adler?" "Theodor Reik, I think.

know. I've been in classes with her. She's bright, but she's screwed up. Jesus, they're so miserable, those kids, always so goddamn unhappy about racism and sexism and imperialism and militarism and capitalism. Man, I grew up in a tarpaper house in Fayette, Mississippi, with ten other kids. We were trying to stay alive; we didn't have time to be that goddamn unhappy.

I was struggling happily with my ribs. Normally I ended up with barbecue sauce in my socks when I ate ribs, but I always figured they were worth it.

Finally it was probably less the poverty that bred crime than the sour stench of racism that hung over anyplace where people are separated out by kind.

The ways of the Lord," I said, "are often dark, but never pleasant.

Just like human life. You want something so bad you make it hard to get.

Susan always claimed that when I ate a sub I looked like I'd fought with it.

Asking your husband to go one-on-one with Joe Broz is like putting a guppy in the piranha pool. If we don't find him before Broz does, he'll be eaten alive.

It's all right, he said, wondering at the same time why there were no better words, why there never are any better words to answer fear and grief and loneliness. It's all right, believe me.

But first he was going to take a drink, a big drink, because he needed one. And it didn't matter whether he drank or not, nothing mattered now; it was all over. All over, or just beginning.

he gets turned down oftener than the lamp in the parlor of a sailor's girlfriend.

It's all right, he said, wondering at the same time why there were no better words, why there never are any better words to answer fear and grief and loneliness.

It's all right," he said, wondering at the same time why there were no better words, why there never are any better words to answer fear and grief and loneliness.

I was ever a fighter, so---one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore, and bade me creep past.

Glad was I when I reached the other bank. Now for a better country. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage-