Quotes About Struggle

It was easier to be the victim, but it didn't feel so great.

Laurel, I hope you find something like this, a little self-destructive habit you can turn to every once in a while, when you're tired of being good. It will keep you sane.

But even if that were true, I was working hard. I didn't know how not to.

la bondad es sorprendentemente difícil

Sé amable, porque cada persona enfrenta una dura batalla.

Where I belong is here, because that's where we all are, fighting our hard battles for the same thing.

I think you're permanently disqualified from the lucky category after four miscarriages, a virtual divorce, and a face that could scare small children.

I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.

The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it's the wolf inside who will tear you apart.

Here are the things girls die of: hunger, disease, accidents, childbirth, and violence. It takes more than heartache to kill a girl. Girls are tough as rocks.

Words fail me sometimes. I have read most every word in the Webster's International Dictionary of the English Language, but I still have trouble making them come when I want them to. Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get – a cold sick feeling deep down inside – when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don't want it to, but you can't stop it. And you know you will never be the same again.

He who cannot endure the bad will not live to see the good.

Every war is different, yet each battle is the same. The enemy is only a distraction. The thing you are fighting against, always, is yourself.

They cut away pieces of me," she whispered in the darkness. "But I handed them the knife.

Who needs make-believe monsters when there are so many real ones.

The rain comes down harder as I write. It sheets off the roof in torrents. I wish it would pound against me. Pound the life from my body. The flesh from my bones. The pain from my heart.

It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.

Because in a small dark room, a broken child lies on a filthy bed and stares up at a high window. He waits for me, too. And I—I who have failed at everything and have failed everyone—I must not, I cannot, I will not fail him.

You are a ghost, Andi," she says. "Almost gone." I look at her. I want to say something but I can't get the words out. She squeezes my hands. "Come back to us," she says. And she's gone.

It's all about the pain, isn't it?

How it grieves me to think that the world always wins... but it goes on, this world, stupid and brutal. But I do not. I do not.

Because I don't care anymore, Ms. Beezemeyer, I want to say. Not about Amade Malherbeau, my classes, college or much of anything. Because the gray world I've managed to live in for the past two years has started to turn black around the edges.

Because nothing is more dangerous than hope

As I turned to go, I nearly trod on the body of a young robin half hidden in the grass. Its wings were twisted and bent. Its body stiff and bloodied. 'A hawk's work,' I thought, wondering if the robin had seen the brilliant blue of the sky and felt the sun on its back before its wings were broken.