Keep On Fighting Quotes Novels & Stories

I will never stop fighting for us. We might not feel the same way we do tomorrow, or two months from now, or six years down the road. We won't always have that spark, that fire, that intensity to our love. But I promise I'll keep fighting for us to find it. I promise to keep fighting for us, bring us together. I promise to keep fighting for the people we once were. And if we change, I'll fight to help us relearn each other and love each other again. I'll be your strength.

"I'm tired of fighting. I thought they would be, too." I smiled at her. "Sometimes fighting is the only way a person can tell that they're alive. If you stop fighting, you die. It's better to fight with people you love, to make sure they're safe, than to fight alone and perish by yourself. We're almost at the climax. Fight until there are no more enemies to stand against you." "What if I can't? What if I don't want to do that?" She said. I snorted. "You don't even believe that yourself, that's why you're so hurt and angry, because you know you've already agreed to fight long before you were ever asked to."

Just like I remembered. And I didn’t want it to ever go away. “You’re a fighter, Clint. Fight for this. Fight for your life.” I shook my head. “I’m tired of fighting, Mom. I don’t want to do it anymore.” “She’s waiting for you, sweetheart.” “You’re a fighter, Clint. Fight for this. Fight for your life.” I furrowed my brow as my mother’s voice distorted itself. “You’re a fighter, Clint. Fight for this. Fight for your life.”

Endless fighting. But we'd fight. We'd always fight. Because that's what family did. We fought for each other. No matter the cost. No matter the pain. No matter what. Always.

I sat beside him, my hand resting lightly on his back, offering what little comfort I could. “I don’t know how you do it,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. “Do what?” “Keep going,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “After everything we’ve lost, after everything you’ve seen. How do you keep fighting?” I thought about his question for a moment, my eyes drifting to the floor. “Because I have to,” I said finally. “Because if I stop, if I give up... what was the point of all of this?”

To, to believing anyway. I put my hand on my belly. Felt movement. Felt life. Felt, felt Chance. My son. Who was struggling already. Who was compensating already. Who was fighting already. Before he was even born. "You're a fighter," I whispered. "Just like your mama. Just like, like all of us. You're a fighter and you're going to make it. You're going to, you're going to survive this. Survive the birth. Survive the surgery. Survive, survive everything. Because you're ours. And we don't give up. We fight. Even when fighting seems pointless. Even when the odds are bad. We fight anyway. That's, that's who we are. Who you are. Fighters. Survivors. People who, who refuse to let bad outcomes win.

Phrases like, "You are a fighter... Come back to us, Jolaade... We need you... You belong here... You are much stronger than you realize... Don't let the world defeat you..." All I could do was weep, praying that this wasn't the end.

Everything that deserves to be fought for, to be stayed for, to be loved for, to be lived for. "It's beautiful," Marcus says, looking at the castle, the house, the garden, the family. "It's beautiful. It's really beautiful. It's what we want. It's what we'll have. It's what we already have, perhaps. If we want. If we dare. If we believe. If we hope. If we love. If we love enough to fight. To stay. To not leave. To not run. To not be afraid. To not doubt. To not hide. To not forget ourselves. To not forget everything that matters. Everything that is worth it. Everything that deserves to be fought for, to be stayed for, to be loved for, to be lived for."

Everything was exactly what it had always been. Later I opened the notes app. There was a folder I’d made in November, something I’d been adding to without fully naming what I was doing. The title was: things Lylah told me. I opened it. It wasn’t long. Eleven entries, some a full sentence, some just a phrase I’d caught before I could lose it. The one who stays when it’s hard and the one who makes it feel easy are not always the same person. That the hardest part of being sick wasn’t the sick part. That some people needed permission more than they needed advice. I read all eleven. I closed it. I didn’t delete it.

She continued, "Don't let them see you cry. Don't let them see you hurt. They're winning, and you're losing. If you continue acting like this, then they'll forever be on top and will have the last laugh. Show them who the real winner is." "How? I have no motivation. I don't have a desire to fight anymore." "That's the problem. You have to start fighting. No one will be there to fight your battles. And, as much as you want to stay home and cry, it's not going to help. You'll end up more miserable than you already are. So, you have to get up and make them regret. Don't give up. Show them what you're capable of."