Quotes About Rejection

Uma hipótese leva, na cabeça em que se estabeleceu ou mesmo na cabeça em que nasceu, uma vida comparável à de um organismo, já que assimila do mundo exterior apenas o que lhe é proveitoso e homogêneo. Quanto ao que é heterogêneo e prejudicial, ou ela não deixa que chegue perto, ou então, quando se trata de algo que é inevitável assimilar, expele-o novamente, intacto.

Adev?rul nu este o prostituat? care se arunc? de gâtul celor care n-o doresc; el este, dimpotriv?, o femeie frumoas? ÅŸi atât de distant?, încât nici cel care-i jertfeÅŸte totul nu poate fi sigur de favorurile ei.

So on the days that the radio played Ammu's songs, people avoided her, made little loops around her, because everybody agreed that it was best to just Let Her Be.

His rejection of her in life (gentle and compassionate though it was) was neutralized by death. In her memory of him, he embraced her. Just her. In the way a man embraces a woman.

I laughed and dismissed the idea.

I asked Thomas what his special technique for sales was as a kid. He said he didn't have any. It was simply that "I was willing to be rejected. That's what allows you to be a good salesperson. You have to be willing to be rejected." It

I was willing to be rejected. That's what allows you to be a good salesperson.

I was willing to be rejected...You have to be willing to be rejected. It was a trait that let him persist until he got what he wanted and avoid whatever he didn't want.

I was willing to be rejected. That's what allows you to be a good salesperson. You have to be willing to be rejected.

asked Thomas what his special technique for sales was as a kid. He said he didn't have any. It was simply that "I was willing to be rejected. That's what allows you to be a good salesperson. You have to be willing to be rejected.

Institutionalized rejection of difference is an absolute necessity in a profit economy which needs outsiders as surplus people.

I don't believe this shift from conquering problems to experiencing life is a one-generational shot or a single investment. I believe it's a whole signature which you try to set in motion and have some input into. But I'm not saying that women don't think or analyze. Or that white does not feel. I'm saying that we must never close our eyes to the terror, to the chaos which is Black which is creative which is female which is dark which is rejected which is messy...

If i wasn't an accident mustn't I be a crushing disappointment?

I feel dirty when I visit my mother. I feel that her intimacy is exposed. Her nightgowns are so thin that her flesh shows through them. Her need is like a vagina. And I do not like to see it.

I don't want to see you. I don't like you. I don't like your face. You look like an insufferable egotist. You're impertinent. You're too sure of yourself. Twenty years ago I would have punched your face with the greatest of pleasure.

But this was that view of human destiny which she had most passionately hated and rejected: the view that man was ever to be drawn by some vision of the unattainable shining ahead, doomed ever to aspire, but not to achieve. Her life and her values could not bring her to that, she thought; she had never found beauty in longing for the impossible and had never found the possible to be beyond her reach.

p.61 He [Roark] was usually disliked, from the first sight of his face, anywhere he went. His face was closed like the door of a safety vault; things locked in safety vaults are valuable; men did not care to feel that. He was a cold, disquieting presence in the room; his presence had a strange quality: it made itself felt and yet it made them feel that he was not there; or perhaps that he was and they weren't.

To me-the foulest man on earth, more contemptible than a criminal, is the man who rejects men for being too good.

They professed to love him for some unknown reason and they ignored all the things for which he could wish to be loved.

Sacrifice does not mean the rejection of the worthless, but of the precious

When men reject reason, they have no means left for dealing with one another — except brute, physical force.

For three months of the year they could not be certain what year they were living in. Because the pope approved the Gregorian calendar, New England rejected it, stubbornly continuing to date the start of the new year to March 25.

Eventually the receptionist went to lunch, leaving him alone. An hour after the agreed-upon meeting time he wandered back to where he assumed Gallimard's office to be; the publisher too had left for lunch. Twenty years later—after Gallimard had published Despair but rejected Invitation to a Beheading, Bend Sinister, and Speak, Memory—the firm again became Nabokov's publisher. The reception would be dramatically different.

One female magnifican, who hardly ever dropped in on us, for some unknown reason took a shine to me and once, after downing Lord knows how many mugs of mineral oil, whispered: "Thou art cute. Wilt have me? Let us hyen to my hous, our-selven ther for to up-hooken . . ." I pretended that a sudden cathode discharge had made it impossible for me to hear her words.