Homelessness Strength Quotes

He had awoken too late for happiness, but not for strength, and could feel an austere joy, as of a warrior who is homeless but stands fully armed.

A castaway in the sea was going down for the third time when he caught sight of a passing ship. Gathering his last strength, he waved frantically and called for help. Someone on board peered at him scornfully and shouted back, "Get a boat!

If Stuart is a freak... it is because he has had the superhuman strength not to be defeated by this isolation. It is because he has had the almost unbelievable social adroitness to be able to fit in smoothly with an educated, soft-skinned person like myself and not make me frightened half to death. If Stuart's a freak, I salute freaks.

Strength of character comes from being hit by stray verbal stones, while protecting discarded ciphers in the snow.

Every person I ever knew or had come across always spoke about falling in love with the rain. They dreamt of dancing in it like there is no tomorrow but I never heard someone speaking about falling in love with a wildfire. No, it is not for the weaker ones. The moment you fall in love with the wildfire, it starts burning everything that you have ever built or grown all these years around you. It changes the way you had always imagined and looked at how the love would be, making you end up homeless. It makes you a weakness intertwined with strength, a love intertwined with hatred. It makes you a puzzle that you yourself could never solve.

Along the open road on winter nights, homeless, cold, and hungry, one voice gripped my frozen heart: 'Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.' In the morning my eyes were so vacant and my face so dead, that the people I met may not even have seen me. In cities, mud went suddenly red and black, like a mirror when a lamp in the next room moves, like treasure in the forest! Good luck, I cried, and I saw a sea of flames and smoke rise to heaven; and left and right, all wealth exploded like a billion thunderbolts.

Although my work leads me to spend time with Nazi skinheads, diseased street prostitutes and homeless alcoholics, I do not have the strength of character to be a pathologist.

Sometimes, he thought of himself as an elephant walking through the china store, breaking everything in his path and still expecting people not to be angry with the damage he made, but rather to admire his strength and his endurance.

The homeless need so many things from us. In addition to housing, medical care, mental health care, and job training, they need a strong hand to help them up. And aside from what we can do practically, we need to share our strength and give them hope: the hope that things can change, and the courage to hang on.

Dear Lord, let us pray for the persons who don’t have a family and spent Thanksgiving alone. Through the twist and turns, and events in their lives, or any situation that’s left them emotionally lost, alone and possible homeless, that they find warmth. The warmth you bring dear God, and your strength to change their situation. In Jesus name, we pray.

Did some people hang on to hope longer than others? Were physical condition, age, and strength major factors in a person’s survival instinct, or did mental stamina play the largest role? Did a happy student with a bright future have a greater desire to fight death, a stronger will to live, than a homeless runaway? Or was the survival instinct an inborn trait as independent of life events as eye color

A free Republic! How a myth will maintain itself, how it will continue to deceive, to dupe, and blind even the comparatively intelligent to its monstrous absurdities. A free Republic! And yet within a little over thirty years a small band of parasites have successfully robbed the American people, and trampled upon the fundamental principles, laid down by the fathers of this country, guaranteeing to every man, woman, and child “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” For thirty years they have been increasing their wealth and power at the expense of the vast mass of workers, thereby enlarging the army of the unemployed, the hungry, homeless, and friendless portion of humanity, who are tramping the country from east to west, from north to south, in a vain search for work. For many years the home has been left to the care of the little ones, while the parents are exhausting their life and strength for a mere pittance. For thirty years the sturdy sons of America have been sacrificed on the battlefield of industrial war, and the daughters outraged in corrupt factory surroundings. For long and weary years this process of undermining the nation’s health, vigor, and pride, without much protest from the disinherited and oppressed, has been going on. Maddened by success and victory, the money powers of this “free land of ours” became more and more audacious in their heartless, cruel efforts to compete with the rotten and decayed European tyrannies for supremacy of power.

You’re insane,” she whispered. He shrugged. “Where you’re concerned, I don’t act rationally.” That was the understatement of the century. Nothing was rational about Gavin. He blackmailed her into coming back to Las Vegas and wanted to resume a nonexistent relationship. He made no sense. He wasn’t a homeless psycho or ugly bastard who had to pay for a mail-order bride. He could have anyone. Why fixate on her? And why oh, why did she go off like a geyser every time he touched her? This couldn’t be happening. “I can feed you,” he said and reached for her fork. She slapped his hand away. “I can feed myself.” “You need to keep your strength up,” he said with a straight face. “Fuck you, Gavin,” she hissed. “I can’t wait.” Manny nearly choked on his steak from laughing so hard.

the following prayer by Dr. Jane Goodall, who was named a UN Messenger of Peace for her continued world efforts, she seems to touch on most aspects of world conflict as we know them today and as they pertain to all living things. Prayer for World Peace We pray to the great Spiritual Power in which we live and move and have our being. We pray that we may at all times keep our minds open to new ideas and shun dogma; that we may grow in our understanding of the nature of all living beings and our connectedness with the natural world; that we may become ever more filled with generosity of spirit and true compassion and love for all life; that we may strive to heal the hurts that we have inflicted on nature and control our greed for material things, knowing that our actions are harming our natural world and the future of our children; that we may value each and every human being for who he is, for who she is, reaching to the spirit that is within,knowing the power of each individual to change the world. We pray for social justice, for the alleviation of the crippling poverty that condemns millions of people around the world to lives of misery—hungry, sick, and utterly without hope. We pray for the children who are starving,who are condemned to homelessness, slave labor, and prostitution, and especially for those forced to fight, to kill and torture even members of their own family. We pray for the victims of violence and war, for those wounded in body and for those wounded in mind. We pray for the multitudes of refugees, forced from their homes to alien places through war or through the utter destruction of their environment. We pray for suffering animals everywhere, for an end to the pain caused by scientific experimentation, intensive farming, fur farming, shooting, trapping, training for entertainment, abusive pet owners, and all other forms of exploitation such as overloading and overworking pack animals, bull fighting, badger baiting, dog and cock fighting and so many more. We pray for an end to cruelty, whether to humans or other animals, for an end to bullying, and torture in all its forms. We pray that we may learn the peace that comes with forgiving and the strength we gain in loving; that we may learn to take nothing for granted in this life; that we may learn to see and understand with our hearts; that we may learn to rejoice in our being. We pray for these things with humility; We pray because of the hope that is within us, and because of a faith in the ultimate triumph of the human spirit; We pray because of our love for Creation, and because of our trust in God. We pray, above all, for peace throughout the world. I love this beautiful and magnanimous prayer. Each request is spelled out clearly and specifically, and it asks that love, peace, and kindness be shown to all of earth’s creatures, not just its human occupants.

The valley of Minas Morgul passed into evil very long ago, and it was a menace and a dread while the banished Enemy dwelt yet far away, and Ithilien was still for the most part in our keeping. As you know, that city was once a strong place, proud and fair, Minas Ithil, the twin sister of our own city. But it was taken by fell men whom the Enemy in his first strength had dominated, and who wandered homeless and masterless after his fall. It is said that their lords were men of Númenor who had fallen into dark wickedness; to them the Enemy had given rings of power, and he had devoured them: living ghosts they were become, terrible and evil. After his going they took Minas Ithil and dwelt there, and they filled it, and all the valley about, with decay: it seemed empty and was not so, for a shapeless fear lived within the ruined walls. Nine Lords there were, and after the return of their Master, which they aided and prepared in secret, they grew strong again. Then the Nine Riders issued forth from the gates of horror, and we could not withstand them. Do not approach their citadel. You will be espied. It is a place of sleepless malice, full of lidless eyes. Do not go that way!

Who are you? Who are your people?” Alleeta lifted her head proudly. She stood like a white flame before him. “I am the daughter of King Ashkenaz and my people are the Cimmerians, homeless wanderers upon the earth. Lost in the wilderness, downtrodden by the Scythians, slain by the enemy’s swords, and torn by the fangs of famine for longer years than I can remember, we have never lost hope. We believed that some day we would find the land of peace, believed that some day the leader promised to us by our great forefather Gomer would come and lead us to that land—the leader who shall be called the White Eagle. And now we have been taken as slaves by you, Bendeguz, and hope is dead in our hearts. The White Eagle is but a song.” Bendeguz listened to her rushing words in silence. Then he said: “Alleeta, do you know what my people call me?” “Your name is Bendeguz—I know.” He held out his hand to her. “Alleeta, listen to me. My name is Bendeguz, the White Eagle! My people are also seeking a land of peace, promised to them by our forefather, Nimrod. We have been slain by swords and torn by famine on the way; now we kill and destroy not because we want to but because nothing must stand in our way, we must and we will reach the land of our destiny.” While he spoke these words, Alleeta came slowly closer to him and took his hand. He closed his strong fingers on her hand and went on: “Tomorrow, Alleeta, your people shall be free. Tell them that they may leave us, or stay with us not as slaves but as our brothers. Tell them that our strength will be their strength, that we will never forsake them.” She had been looking into his eyes intently, searching. Now she smiled. “I can speak for my people now, Bendeguz. I will follow wherever you go. We will follow the White Eagle of the Moon westward . . . always.” She stepped back and slipped away between the dark trees. She might have been a dream, but her voice floated back to Bendeguz, growing fainter and fainter: Lead me westward, White Eagle of the Moon, oh, lead me . . . Bendeguz, back in his tent, was also singing softly: On silvery rays of the Moon Westward I long to fly . . . And, as he drifted into sleep, his last thought was: “Westward . . . but not alone, not alone any more.

They are fools that think that wealth or women or strong drink or even drugs can buy the most in effort out of the soul of a man. These things offer pale pleasures compared to that which is greatest of them all, that task which demands from him more than his utmost strength, that absorbs him, bone and sinew and brain and hope and fear and dreams—and still calls for more. They are fools who think otherwise. No great effort was ever bought. No painting, no music, no poem, no cathedral in stone, no church, no state was ever raised into being for payment of any kind. No Parthenon, no Thermopylae was ever built or fought for pay or glory; no Bukhara sacked, or China ground beneath Mongol heel, for loot or power alone. The payment for the doing of these things was itself the doing of them. To wield oneself—to use oneself as a tool in one's own hand—and so to make or break that which no one else can build or nun—that is the greatest pleasure known to man! To one who has felt the chisel in his hand and set free the angel prisoned in the marble block, or to one who has felt the sword in hand and set homeless the soul that a moment before lived in the body of his mortal enemy—to these both come alike the taste of that rare food spread only for demons or for gods.

A normal day! Holding it in my hand this one last moment, I have come to see it as more than an ordinary rock, it is a gem, a jewel. In time of war, in peril of death, people have dug their hands and faces into the earth and remembered this. In time of sickness and pain, people have buried their faces in pillows and wept for this. In time of loneliness and separation, people have stretched themselves taut and waited for this. In time of hunger, homelessness, and wants, people have raised bony hands to the skies and stayed alive for this. Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, savor you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it will not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky, and want more than all the world your return. And then I will know what now I am guessing: that you are, indeed, a common rock and not a jewel, but that a common rock made of the very mass substance of the earth in all its strength and plenty puts a gem to shame.

Even millions of Christians focus all their strengths searching for riches instead of pursuing God. When people are consumed with the goods and comforts of this world, the church reflects this iniquity forgetting the poor, homeless and widows. For some churches it is more important to worry about jewelry and dressings instead of caring about those who seem to be invisible.

God’s strength shows up best in weak people. Avis leaves no room for doubting God has a plan and the power to bring it to fruition. As she said on our program, “God can use anybody to do anything. We just need to be willing to follow where He leads. God will use the things of our past – hurts, homelessness, abuse, as well as a good family life, education, and money. They all can be tools that God will use if we give them to Him. God was calling me: ‘Go. I will show you what to do when you get there.

It is far stronger to acknowledge an issue, accept it and attempt to restore it than it is to bear the pain, dismiss what it calls for and carry on. Moving on in this way is not being strong or positive; it is denial. Being positive is not plastering a smile over a hard experience; being positive is recognising this experience for its negative nature and acting upon it to make it transformative.

The united strength of a society is mirrored through the vulnerable community it feeds.

When we think of broken people, we think of addicts or the homeless. We think of circumstances that are horrible. But we don’t often think of CEO’s or celebrities. We forget that behind the fame and success and money, what this book,” he lifted his Bible, “says about human nature is true. That brokenness is a symptom of the human nature. And the rich and famous among us are just as broken as the heroin addicts. Although Paul was facing awful circumstances—he was imprisoned, likely sick or injured. But Paul wasn’t broken. In fact, he said ‘In all things, I have learned to be content.’ He said, ‘when I am weak, then I am strong’ because he found his strength and identity in Christ. That is a peace that is beyond understanding and beyond the things of this fallen world.

A smile encourages tourism which boosts economic growth, gives comfort to the lonely and sick, gives hope to the poor and homeless, gives strength to the fragile and elderly, reduces stress in worriers, makes us happy when we're sad and builds strong bridges between us all.

You know, you just kind of do the best you can and hold on to moments that feel a little better than others. You fall asleep and try not to think about the pressing time of past and future, compressing you from both ways, but you can’t let yourself get worried about it. You just have to try to fall asleep. And you put both feet on the ground when you wake up, seeing the sun that rose once again, despite it all, knowing that this is one of very few limited mornings that you will get to experience and you just have to stop carrying life like a burden. Life is not a burden. It’s not heavy to be alive. It’s weightless. It’s light as air. You’re just floating, a leaf through space, for a little while. You just have to learn to close your eyes more, or open them, when you can. You just have to learn to float with the current more, not fight against things. Change, movement, transitions ... you have to become one with the current. So what if you find yourself homeless and aimless, broke to the bones with no one to hold or call or care for? Go climb a mountain and sit above the world for an hour or two. Breathe in cleaner air and drink water falling through the cracks of the stones. Don’t take the photo and don’t share it with anyone. It’s still beautiful even if only you know about it. You hold this moment in your heart and you go forward for here, one step at a time, and you try to get moments like this, even with other people, down on the ground, and maybe sometimes you will find yourself crying at 4am by yourself but that’s all good. It’s all okay. Just soak up whatever life offers and don’t think too much about it. It’s all beautiful. Stop seeing life as a burden. Something heavy to carry. Life is not heavy. Life is weightless and you can dance through it like a thin fog a summer’s morning. It’s all beautiful.

I push the kitchen door open and go to the garage in search of something that can take care of at least one problem in my life. I really want a machete, or an ax, but all I find is a hammer. I take it back to the kitchen with me to take care of this damn door once and for all. I swing the hammer at the door. It makes a nice dent. I swing at it again, wondering why I didn’t just try to take the door off the hinges. Maybe I just really needed something to take out my aggression on. I hit the door in the same spot, over and over, until the wood begins to chip. Eventually, a hole begins to form, and I can see from the kitchen into the living room. It feels good. That kind of worries me. I keep hacking away, though. Every time I swing at the door, the door swings away from me. I swing again when it comes back. My hammer and I fall into a rhythm with the door until there’s at least a twelve-inch hole. I put all my strength behind the next swing, but the hammer gets stuck in the wood and slips out of my hands. When the door swings back toward me, I stop it with my foot. I can see Clara through the hole in the door. She’s standing in the living room, staring at me. She looks bewildered. My hands are on my hips now. I’m breathing heavily from the physical exertion this hole took to make. I wipe sweat from my forehead. “You have officially lost your mind,” Clara says. “I’d be better off as a homeless runaway.” I push at the door, holding it open with my hand. If she really thinks it’s so bad, being here with me . . . “Run away, then, Clara,” I say flatly. She shakes her head, as if I’m the disappointing one, then walks back to her bedroom. “That’s not the way to the front door!” I yell. She slams her bedroom door, and it only takes three seconds for me to regret yelling at her.