Quotes about Resilience

I have them, these attacks of the past, like faintness, a wave sweeping over my head.

You need to be strong. They were trying to make things better. But it can put a lot of pressure on a person to be told they need to be strong.

It was Crake preserving his dignity, because the alternative would have been losing it.

I am not a saint or a cripple, I am not a wound; now I will see whether I am a coward.

Torture is like dancing: I'm too old for it. Let the younger ones practice their bravery.

I wish I knew what You were up to. But whatever it is, help me to get through it, please. Though maybe it's not Your doing; I don't believe for an instant that what's going on out there is what You meant. I have enough daily bread, so I won't waste time on that. It isn't the main problem. The problem is getting it down without choking on it.

They meet in church basements and offer bandages to those wounded by the shrapnel of exploding families.

This is a reconstruction. All of it is a reconstruction. It's a reconstruction now, in my head, as I lie flat on my single bed rehearsing what I should or shouldn't have said, what I should or shouldn't have done, how I should have played it. If I ever get out of here Let's stop there. I intend to get out

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum [...] But what did it mean? I said. What?, he said. Oh, it meant 'Don't let the bastards grind you down'. I guess we thought we were pretty smart back then.

Have they forgotten that I'm in here? They'll have to bring more food, or at least more water, or else I will starve, I will shrivel, my skin will dry out, all yellow like old linen; I will turn into a skeleton, I will be found months, years, centuries from now on, and they will say Who is this, she must have slipped our mind, Well sweep all those bones and rubbish into the corner, but save the buttons, no sense in having them go to waste, there's no help for it now.

After all you've been through, you deserve whatever I have left, which is not much but includes the truth.

Death makes me hungry. Maybe it's because I've been emptied; or maybe it's the body's way of seeing to it that I remain alive, continue to repeat its bedrock prayer: I am, I am. I am, still.