Quotes About Struggle

I had lost my job. I was no longer officially a minor historian. Perhaps I was history itself, flailing around in a number of directions, sometimes all of them at the same time.

I wasn't sure my skeletal system had found a way of walking freely in the Societal System

When our father does the things he needs to do in the world, we understand it is his due. If our mother does the things she needs to do in the world, we feel she has abandoned us. It is a miracle she survives our mixed messages, written in society's most poisoned ink. It is enough to drive her mad.

By?am cielesno?ci?, pragnieniem, ??dz?, py?em, krwi?, sp?kanymi ustami, pokrytymi p?cherzami stopami, otartymi kolanami, st?uczonymi biodrami, lecz by?am te? szcz??liwa, ?e nie drzemi? na sofie pod kocem ze starcem u boku i dzieckiem na kolanach.

I wasn't in the mood to talk. The mournful sound of the rubber wheels of the tea trolley squeaking on the lino floor was the right soundtrack for the end of the world. Sometimes the tea lady lost her grip and the trolley hit the corners of the walls and beds. It was the equivalent of waterfalls and parrots in my new terrible world.

I wanted to die of shame but everyone insisted on keeping me alive. I had to live.

A female writer cannot afford to feel her life too clearly. If she does, she will write in a rage when she should write calmly.

I knew I wanted to be a writer more than anything else in the world, but I was overwhelmed by everything and didn't know where to start.

Cuando una mujer tiene que encontrar una forma nueva de vivir y rompe con la historia social que ha borrado su nombre, se espera que se odie a sí misma atrozmente, que enloquezca de dolor, que llore arrepentida. Son las joyas reservadas para ella en la corona del patriarcado, siempre a su disposición. No faltan las lágrimas, pero es mejor atravesar la oscuridad negra y azulada que quedarse con esas joyas que nada valen

She was not a poet. She was a poem. She was about to snap in half. He thought his own poetry had made her la la la la love him. It was unbearable.

I was thinking of Hecate at the crossroads with her burning torches and keys, Medusa with her snakes and fatal gaze, Artemis with her hunting dogs and deer, Aphrodite with her doves, Demeter with her mares, Athena with her owl. Whenever I saw eccentric and sometimes mentally fragile older women feeding pigeons on the pavement of every city in the world, I thought, Yes, there she is, she is one of those cut-down goddesses who has become demented by life.

My words were smaller than my feelings at that moment. I had spent my life finding diplomatic words. Am I a diplomat then? Isn't it hard enough to play Beethoven

I love him with as much protest as I can muster.

himself up, and everything around him, two streets away.

I was working second shift and weekends, never seeing my children, and I felt like I was selling my soul to the devil for health insurance and paid vacations.

So much of what we are is water. We change with the tides, we struggle in our own endless seas to transform ourselves into something or someone splendid.

To quote Cervantes, 'Dios que da la llaga, da la medicina,' meaning—" "God gives you the hurt, but also the fix for it.

The wounded die or build a shield of scar tissue. Life moves on.

Trying to rescue your parents from their worst devils is hard on kids, you know? Makes 'em either mean or saintly or both.

She was constantly prying us apart, pitting us against each other. We fought out of frustration

She began to scream at the top of her lungs, "I wanna die! I wanna die! I'm gonna kill myself! I wanna die!" Everyone in the neighborhood could hear her.

in the book, refused to come with him. He grabbed her arm to pull her back. She struggled to get free, and in so doing pulled her arm out of its socket.

We were talking about The Bell Jar, because we were sixteen, and we wanted to be depressed in New York.

never to pray for patience without being prepared for war.