Best 8360 quotes in «fighting quotes» category

I have just lost my reason for fighting so hard. How do I go on now, without my thing to fight for?' And he whispered into my ear, he said: 'Maybe it's time to stop fighting.

I hit him for every single thing that was wrong in my life and kicked him in a fierce fury of madness as he sobbed and covered his face and screamed. I hit him because Walter hit me and I hit him because I hated my life and I hit him because I just wanted to go home and I hit him because I didn’t know where home was.

I jumped between them holding my hands up in front of me to stop the onslaught. We would all sit down and figure this out as rational adults. We’d been adults for a century at least, and it should not be a problem. It appeared to be a problem.

I just hope I'm around long enough to see it through.” Sara said, looking uncertain. “All of us wonder that, at some point or another,” Arch replied cryptically. “It's your destiny, and all of fate is aligning to see it come to pass. This next thirty days won't be easy. Hell is sending out its best fighters, and I'm sending out one of mine. I have faith that he will see you through.

I kept trying to explain and he kept shouting until I began to cry from frustration. Then he felt remorseful, which was so unlike him and endearing that I almost changed my mind and said yes. But then I imagined a lifetime of having to cry to get him to be kind, and I went back to no again.

I know I don’t know much about anything,” he said. “But I think it doesn’t have to work like this.” “It does,” Peril said, struggling to push him off. Her talons shoved ineffectually at him. “Dragons kill each other all the time. In war, in here, anywhere, for no reason at all. That’s how we are. Especially you and me. We’re the same. We’re dangerous.” “That’s not how I am,” Clay said. “No matter what happened when I hatched. I can’t feel this killer inside me that’s supposed to be there. Maybe that’s what the prophecy is about. Maybe the dragonets are supposed to show everyone how to get along without a lot of killing.

Ili kupambana na matumizi mabaya ya madawa ya kulevya katika jamii ya Tanzania, ni muhimu kutoa elimu kwa Watanzania juu ya madhara yanayoambatana na matumizi ya madawa hayo. Tusipambane na madawa ya kulevya peke yake. Tupambane na elimu ya madawa ya kulevya pia.

I'll show you an imaginative re-creation, my fist imaginatively re-creating your fucken face for starters.

I’m Dorian Gray, I’m Dr. Jekyll and I’m Mr. Hyde.... I am Dr. Jekyll trying to separate the darkness from my light. I am Mr. Hyde fighting to be in control not to be controlled. I am Dr. Jekyll held captive by Mr. Hyde. I am Dr. Jekyll…I am me… just me.

Imbattersi un bel giorno, per caso, in un’oca disorientata rompeva la monotonia della zuppa fredda, della carne in scatola e del pane del giorno prima – il vino, invece, non era più un problema giacché ora veniva generosamente distribuito dall’intendenza insieme all’acquavite nella convinzione, tenacemente alimentato dallo Stato maggiore, che ubriacare il soldato contribuisca ad accrescerne il coraggio e, soprattutto, offuschi in lui la consapevolezza della sua condizione.

I’m afraid they’re not coming.” Abby said fearfully. “Our parents, our teachers – everyone! They’ve disappeared. That’s it. Lights out, Shelly. We’re on our own.

I’m not going to hide away and leave my friends to the corelings!” she shouted. “We’ll find a way to ward the Holy House, and make our stand here. Together! And if demons should dare come and try to take my children, I have secrets of fire that will burn them from this world!” My children, Leesha thought, in the sudden silence that followed. Am I Bruna now, to think of them so? She looked around, taking in the scared and sooty faces, not a one taking charge, and realized for the first time that as far as everyone was concerned, she was Bruna. She was Herb Gatherer for Cutter's Hollow now. Sometimes that meant bringing healing, and sometimes... Sometimes it meant a dash of pepper in the eyes, or burning a wood demon in your yard.

I’m not saying we’ll live to see some sort of paradise. But just fighting for change makes you stronger. Not hoping for anything will kill you for sure. Take a chance, Jess. You’re already wondering if the world could change. Try imagining a world worth living in, and then ask yourself if that isn’t worth fighting for. You’ve come too far to give up on hope, Jess.

I must do whatever I can to find the best partners possible." "Did you kick their butts?" He frowned. "The buttocks are among the least sensitive places to hit someone." I laughed. "It's a figure of speech." "To kick butts. Interesting.

Injured Soul Fainted Eyes Returning from where? Weary feet Weak arms Treading toward where? Struggled in vain battles Fighting delusive enemies Erred by a deception The ancient deception

In a fair fight, the don's man would almost certainly paint the walls with Locke and Calo's blood, so it stood to reason that this fight would have to be as unfair as possible.

In her head is war All the time just war I put her to bed I bring peace to the world

In life, toughness and roughness go together.

In The Land of Poetry and Fighting, Efficiency rules the throne. I try to live here, so I shave my head because hair is dead and dead is inefficient.

In relationships, when a person gets angry, it is really just hurt in disguise.  So men, consider this the next time the woman you are with gets angry with you.  She is most likely just hurt and needs you to hold her and reassure her.

. . in Old Karate, you learned you Art through pain. You learned quickly that your techniques had to be fast or powerful or both. If you did not embrace pain and it's lessons adequately, you simply did not survive

In the horrors of war, please bring me peace.

I should've told him that when I'd had a knife pulled on me for the first time, I ran faster than Carl Lewis. That the only people who survive in this world are cowards. And that true heroes are destined to die young. That the world needed him, so if anyone pulled a knife on him , he had to run faster than a speeding bullet.

... I slipped our wicker bed and walked the sands where we were also roughly repeated: some young couple, "you did," "I didn't," "you sure the fuck did" – they hugged that bicker to their chests like blankets fighting cold.

I should at least die as I had lived—fighting.

Is it me you're describing, or yourself?

I think maybe, when I was very young, I witnessed a chaste cheek kiss between the two when it was impossible to avoid. Christmas, birthdays. Dry lips. On their best married days, their communications were entirely transactional: 'We're out of milk again.' (I'll get some today.) 'I need this ironed properly.' (I'll do that today.) 'How hard is it to buy milk?' (Silence.) 'You forgot to call the plumber.' (Sigh.) 'Goddammit, put on your coat, right now, and go out and get some goddamn milk. Now.' These messages and orders brought to you by my father, a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee.

It is a joyous thing, war.  You love your comrade so much in war.  When you see that your quarrel is just, and your blood is fighting well, tears rise to your eyes. A great sweet feeling of loyalty and of pity fills your heart on seeing your friend so valiantly exposing his body.  And then your are prepared to go and live or die with him, and for love not to abandon him.  And out of that, there arises such a delectation, that he who has not experienced it is not fit to say what delight is.  Do you think that a man who does that fears death?  Not at all, for he feels so strengthened, so elated, that he does not know where he is.  Truly he is afraid of nothing.

I thought how wise he was to lure his rival out into the woods, where every fight's fair.

It is better fighting and losing than not fighting at all!

It is better to die with your boots on than to live as a bootlicker.

It's better to look at a black and white world, rather than black and blue.

It is easier to fight for one's principles than to live up to them.

It seems to happen sudden—a fighter gets good. He gets easy and graceful. He learns how to save himself—no energy wasted... he slips and slides— he travels with the punch. . . . Oh, sure, I like the way you're shaping up.

It's a discomfiting thing to have the person you love more than anything in the world toss a knife at your friend's head and walk away.

it's like being attacked by a RAT!

It's impossible to be a good writer if you haven't lived badly. A past life of drinking heavily, fighting and whoring all help to ease those words onto the page.

It’s no big deal. It’s kind of like a tattoo. It won’t hurt, not too much, just a few stitches and it’ll be all over. It’s really interesting how it’s done. You won’t believe where your soul hides. Go on, take a guess. Where do you think it is?

It's not that success is guaranteed that we go to war. It's because it is the only alternative we have left to avoid annihilation

It's hard to say which I like more, the perfectly happy days or the hours right after we've ended a good fight.

I wanted to beat the heck out of the JV guys for that, except I wouldn't know what to do in a fistfight without a manual.

It was always wise to pick your battles and this was one they could not win. Not, yet, anyway.

It was easier to deal with Tennyson when he was fighting me; but having him on my side was frightening, because now I didn't know who the enemy was.

It wasn't supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself.” “It helps—” “No it doesn't. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze.” “But I need—” “You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on.” “You make it sound so easy.” Bitterness drips from each syllable. “It’s not. It’s the fucking hardest thing a person can do.” I smooth a damp strand out of her face and away from my mouth. “It’s the hardest fucking thing. It’s why we drink and do drugs and fight. It’s why I play music and build engines.

It will not always be easy, but it will always be beautiful.

I've been fighting every single day of my life. Sometimes I think all I have left is fight.

I've barely survived inside a world that took too long to ring it's song. The poet simply becomes the the last line of his greatest poem he never wrote.

I’ve been so occupied with what I was fighting against, I’d forgotten what I was fighting for

I wanted to fix things, obviously. You know it’s like… the planets are out of alignment when we’re fighting.

I watch the trees all dressed up in the Spring, While posing as they stand in line, Placing their best foot forward, showing off their leaves and fighting for attention, One tree at a time