Quotes About Inadequacy

Je suis très heureux que tu sois là, dis-je avec le sentiment que mes mots n'étaient pas à la hauteur.

Mi ha mostrato ciò vividamente una delle novelle giovanili di Thomas Mann. Il grande genio esprime sì la cultura dominante, ma è impossibile che non faccia trapelare l'inquietudine rimanente in essa, e l'inadempienza ultima di essa. Il titolo di quella novella è Il piccolo signor Friedemann.

To lay the blame of one's own inadequacy of responsibility on someone else and expect them to comply is to deny both you and them the right to a mind, a spirit, and the pleasure of living.

Then there are the other days, when nothing is enough. The poem grins. It grins because it knows it is a terrible poem. It grins in embarrassment. It grins in pity. It grins in superiority. I may be a terrible poem, it grins, but at least I have one comfort. At least I'm not a terrible *poet*. At least I'm not the guy who sat in front of a typewriter for two hours coming up with the likes of *me*.

Objecting would have only called attention to her own inadequacies, and she was determined not to do that anymore, for if she herself was tired of it, then Kesgrave must be weary to the bone. Furthermore, it served no purpose, because there was nothing he could do to alleviate her insecurities. They lived in a cold little box in the deepest heart of her, and she was the only one capable of rooting it out.

Before we even sit up in bed, before our feet touch the floor, we're already inadequate, already behind, already losing, already lacking something. And by the time we go to bed at night, our minds race with a litany of what we didn't get, or didn't get done, that day. We go to sleep burdened by those thoughts and wake up to that reverie of lack.

I mean I never feel I feel what I ought to feel.

I am weak. But ashamed of your weakness. What good could my strength bring to the world?

We cuss them because we're not good enough for them. We hate them because they wouldn't look at us, couldn't be bothered to give us an interview. I guess there's a Trent & Brent in every city, in every field. I didn't make it and I don't belong, so I'll just go through life hating them.

Father Alfonso and Father Octavio could make Pepe feel as if he were a betrayer of the Catholic faith—as if he were a raving secular humanist, or worse. (Could there be anyone worse, from a Jesuitical perspective?) Father Alfonso and Father Octavio knew their Catholic dogma by rote; while the two priests talked circles around Brother Pepe, and they made Pepe feel inadequate in his belief, they were irreparably doctrinaire.

Where you see valid achievements or virtue being attacked, it's by someone viewing them as a mirror of their own inadequacy instead of an inspiring beacon for excellence.

Try as hard as we may for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways.

No matter how hard try to make you happy, in the end it's never good enough because I always end up hurting.

Knowing that you'll never be good enough for anyone is the worst feeling ever.

Ever seen your EX with someone else that wasn't even up to par, not being jealous but you knew they could do better.

People don't hate you for your weaknesses, they hate you for your strengths.

Don't you dare tell me I'm perfect, when I wasn't even good enough to make you want to stay.

What hurts the most is the feeling of being replaced. It feels like no matter what you did, it wasn't enough. And no matter how hard you try and capture their heart again, nothing ever works.

We feel very strongly that our own wisdom begins where that of the author leaves off and we could like him to provide us with desires... That is the value of reading and is also its inadequacy. To make it into discipline is to give too large a role to what is only an incitement. Reading is on the threshold of the spiritual life it can introduce us to it: it does not constitute it.

Even the best of saints, being left to themselves, will quickly appear to be less than men—to be nothing! All our own strength is weakness, and all our wisdom folly.

Men seem to be born with a debt they can never pay no matter how hard they try.

It was strange to Old Robert that he, who knew so much more than his neighbors, who had pondered so endlessly, should be not even a good farmer. Sometimes he imagined he understood too many things ever to do anything well.

How pure he is, how unfit for a world that even she knew more about than he did. A dragon killer, he was, a rescuer of damsels, and his small sins seemed so great to him that he felt unfit and unseemly.

I'm not one of those famous people flying round the world emoting over every catastrophe. I'm too feeble.