Quotes About Rejection

And just now I pick up the blessed diary of Virginia Woolf which I bought with a battery of her novels Saturday with Ted. And she works off her depression over rejections from Harper's (no less!—and I hardly can believe that the Big Ones get rejected, too!) by cleaning out the kitchen. And cooks haddock & sausage. Bless her. I feel my life linked to her, somehow. I love her.

Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.

Dziewicza strona, bia?a. Pierwsza skalana i odrzucona. Wszystkie te marzenia, obietnice: czekanie, a? b?d? mog?a znowu pisa?, a potem bolesny, sfuszerowany gwa?t na pierwszej kartce.

Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: After a heavy rainfall, poems titled RAIN pour in from across the nation.

Winning or losing an argument, receiving an acceptance or rejection, is no proof of the validity or value of personal identity.

I'd say go to hell, but I never want to see you again.

I like you.' 'That's tough, Joan,' I said, picking up my book. 'Because I don't like you. You make me puke, if you want to know.

I'd always spoil what I did so nobody would ask me to do it again.

And I thought of how my mother and brother and friends would visit me, day after day, hoping I would be better. Then their visits would slacken off, and they would give up hope. They would grow old. They would forget me... The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.

I haven't had an acceptance since October 1st. And I have piles of poems and stories out. Not to mention my book of poems. Even Ted's letter about winning the contest, with its award details, hasn't come, so even vicarious pleasure is shorn from me. Bills come.

I love my rejections. They prove that I'm trying'. I'm convinced this quote from Sylvia Plath is one of the best incentives to keep a struggling writer from giving up.

New Yorker rejection of poems may smack me in the stomach any morning.

I am too pure for you or anyone.

Most editors are failed writers. But so are most writers

But you are just the same: Just as voracious for what you cannot have Because you repel it.

The heart of [J.G.] Ballard's vision [is] the object at odds with its function and abandoned by its time.

Experiencing this first level of suffering is inevitable. But the second level of suffering comes when we reject the first level, or when we deprive ourselves of basic human needs like exercise and learning and friendship, or when we fail to seize the moment and appreciate all that we have.

He was broken because of the army, and the army didn't want him because he was broken.

I'm sick of this. Call me what you like, say I'm without honor, I don't care. I'm not getting on any more horses to whack you people with a stick.

You're an obnoxious canker-blossom. Go ooze somewhere else.

Why is it," cried the young woman in obvious chagrin, "everyone believes a plain girl will leap at the first man who wants her?

You can smoulder in your own syrup from bow till Doomsday, you'll get nothing more from me.

Like adamant she stared down at him, and some were certain they beheld her abhorence of him now, naked as swords in her gaze, as if she might kill him all over again.

When will you wed, Mercurio?" "Oh, I'd wed Mercurio tomorrow, but he will not have me.