Quotes About Disillusionment

Sometimes your dreams come true, and its a real drag.

Las Vegas is a very strange place. It's a place of broken dreams.

All that happens when your dreams come true is a slow, melting realization that it wasn't what you thought.

Los Angeles is a sprawl of broken dreams and lost opportunities, disconnected souls and entertainment junkies. The sunny skies and graceful palms don't redeem jammed roadways to nowhere.

Failure and disillusionment are realities, but ideologies are made of dreams. And dreams, it would seem, do not fade easily.

The office' is a cemetery of dreams.

Football lost its excitement for me.

I'd love to believe in my government so I could trust law enforcement people again. I don't have that belief any more.

We, as actors, see luxury around us, but when we step out, we see the struggle and reality which people are going through.

As a player I thought all managers were doing something wrong.

stood with my hand on the handle of the third door. The rule of three, Miss Winter had said. But I wasn't in the mood for her story anymore. Her dangerous house with its indoor rain and trick mirror had lost its interest for me.

I am not nostalgic for a country which doesn't yet exist on a map." [...] I am not nostalgic. Belonging does not interest me. I had once thought that it did. Until I examined the underpinnings. One is mislead when on looks at the sails and majesty of tall ships instead of their cargo.

I know all about the facts of life, and I don't think much of them.

How many beginnings before you see the lies in your excitement?

But idealists of course are unpredictable. They tend to be the ones who turn bitter overnight, deceived by lies they've told themselves.

How old were you when you first realized your father was a jerk?" "Twelve and a half," Grappa said.

Well, I don't believe it any more, none of it: I have no faith and I have no hope.' Though

With distaste, Harriet reflected upon how life had beaten down the adults she knew, every single grown-up. Something strangled them as they grew older, made them doubt their own powers-laziness? Habit? Their grip slackened; they stopped fighting and resigned themselves to what happened. That's Life. That's what they all said. That's Life, Harriet, that's just how it is, you'll see.

I met her my first year of college, and was initially attracted to her because she seemed an intelligent, brooding malcontent like myself; but after about a month, during which time she'd firmly glued herself to me, I began to realize, with some little horror, that she was nothing more than a lowbrow, pop-psychology version of Sylvia Plath.

Life: vacant, vain, intolerable. What loyalty did I owe it? None whatsoever.

It was rotten top to bottom. Putting your time in at the office; dutifully spawning your two point five; smiling politely at your retirement party; then chewing on your bedsheet and choking on your canned peaches at the nursing home. It was better never to have been born – never to have wanted anything, never to have hoped for anything.

Kids shouting and skidding in the playground with no idea what future Hells awaited them: boring jobs and ruinous mortgages and bad marriages and hair loss and hip replacements and lonely cups of coffee in an empty house and a colostomy bag at the hospital.

Because I don't care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat.

En vérité, c'est si difficile d'entrer dans le monde adulte quand toutes les routes conduisent aux mêmes frontières, quand le ciel est si lointain, que les arbres n'ont plus d'yeux et que les majestueuses rivières sont recouvertes de plaques de ciment gris, que les animaux ne parlent plus et que les hommes eux-mêmes ont perdu leurs signes.»