"Extraordinary people survive under the most terrible circumstances and they become more extraordinary because of it"
About this Quote
Davies is smuggling a moral provocation into a sentence that reads like reassurance. “Extraordinary people” aren’t just born with a rarified spark; they’re pressure-formed. The line flatters resilience, but it also quietly challenges the reader’s taste for tidy victim narratives. Terrible circumstances, in his framing, aren’t merely obstacles to endure; they’re the brutal machinery that manufactures distinction.
The subtext is almost Calvinist: suffering as a kind of dark apprenticeship. “Survive” is the threshold verb here, deliberately unromantic. He’s not praising noble martyrdom; he’s praising the stubborn competence of staying alive when conditions are trying to erase you. Then he pivots: survival doesn’t return you to baseline, it re-ranks you. “More extraordinary” suggests adversity is not just endured but metabolized, converted into sharper perception, harder discipline, stranger courage. That’s an artist’s way of describing how characters become legible: we recognize the remarkable when the world has made its demands.
Context matters because Davies wrote in a century that repeatedly tested the story of progress: world wars, social upheaval, the slow disillusionment with institutional authority. As a novelist, he’s also defending narrative logic. Trauma in fiction can be cheap, a shortcut to depth. Davies insists it has consequences: the truly “extraordinary” aren’t defined by pain itself, but by what pain forces them to become.
There’s an edge here, too. If adversity makes you extraordinary, what do we owe the un-extraordinary who survive and are simply scarred? Davies’ sentence is both inspiration and indictment, depending on who gets to read it as a promise.
The subtext is almost Calvinist: suffering as a kind of dark apprenticeship. “Survive” is the threshold verb here, deliberately unromantic. He’s not praising noble martyrdom; he’s praising the stubborn competence of staying alive when conditions are trying to erase you. Then he pivots: survival doesn’t return you to baseline, it re-ranks you. “More extraordinary” suggests adversity is not just endured but metabolized, converted into sharper perception, harder discipline, stranger courage. That’s an artist’s way of describing how characters become legible: we recognize the remarkable when the world has made its demands.
Context matters because Davies wrote in a century that repeatedly tested the story of progress: world wars, social upheaval, the slow disillusionment with institutional authority. As a novelist, he’s also defending narrative logic. Trauma in fiction can be cheap, a shortcut to depth. Davies insists it has consequences: the truly “extraordinary” aren’t defined by pain itself, but by what pain forces them to become.
There’s an edge here, too. If adversity makes you extraordinary, what do we owe the un-extraordinary who survive and are simply scarred? Davies’ sentence is both inspiration and indictment, depending on who gets to read it as a promise.
Quote Details
| Topic | Resilience |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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