Quotes About Disappointment

I guess I always thought that's just what life was—one long series of disappointments interrupted by moments of hope.

It must grace the festivity of the wedding; it must enliven the gloom of the funeral. It must cheer the intercourse of friends and enlighten the fatigue of labor. Success deserves a treat and disappointment needs it. The busy drink because they are busy; the idle because they have nothing else to do. The farmer must drink because his work is hard; the mechanic because his employment is sedentary and dull. It is warm, men drink to be cool; it is cool, they drink to be warm.27

You can only give things up once they start to let you down.

En toen keek ook kleine Quint op van zijn PS. Hij vroeg aan de clowns: 'Weten jullie wanneer eetzuster Gera komt?' De cliniclowns wisten niet wanneer eetzuster Gera kwam. 'Oh,' zei Quint toen, alsof hij Poetin was, 'ga dan maar weg.

Shaking hands with love, and passion, aspires perfumed feeling; however, shaking hands with expectations, distresses by the failure of that.

The false hope specifies and results in the collapse of ambition, dream, and time.

What?" She drew herself up, stern as a cat presented with the wrong food for dinner.

I had these plans and it turns out I don't know anything. I can't even accomplish the simplest task.

It pained her deeply to realize Alysandir wasn't her romantic hero she had pegged him to be. In truth he was no more attainable than her dreams of Mr. Darcy. – Isobella Douglas

I always expect people to behave much better than I do. When they actually behave worse, I am frankly incredulous.

Then you--weren't lovers?" Pollyanna's voice was tragic with dismay. "Never!" "And it isn't all coming out like a book? . . . Oh dear! And it was all going so splendidly," almost sobbed Pollyanna. "I'd have been so glad to come--with Aunt Polly." "And you won't--now?" The man asked the question without turning his head. "Of course not! I'm Aunt Polly's!

Girl, where were you last night? I waited up until Arsenio was over.

We were twelve years old, but we walked along the hot streets of the neighborhood, amid the dust and flies that the occasional old trucks stirred up as they passed, like two old ladies taking the measure of lives of disappointment, clinging tightly to each other. No one understood us, only we two—I thought—understood one another.

I let his rose wither in a vase on my desk, a vase painfully empty of flowers since the long-ago time when, on my birthday, Mario would give me a cattleya, in imitation of Swann. In the evening the flower was already black and bent on its stem. I threw it in the trash.

We were supposed to go to the sea and we hadn't gone, I had been punished for nothing. A mysterious inversion of attitudes had occurred: I, despite the rain, would have continued on the road, I felt far from everything and everyone, and distance--I discovered for the first time--extinguished in me every tie and every worry; Lila had abruptly repented of her own plan, she had given up the sea, she had wanted to return to the confines of the neighborhood. I couldn't figure it out.

The relationship between money and the possession of things had disappointed her.

Was it possible that I—short, too full-figured, wearing glasses, I diligent but not intelligent, I who pretended to be cultured, informed, when I wasn't—could have believed that he would like me even just for the length of a vacation?

I observed her, amazed and disappointed, and determined to not be like her, to become truly different and so show her that it was useless and cruel to frighten us with her repeated 'You will never ever ever see me again'; instead she should have changed for real, or left home for real, left us, disappeared. How I suffered for her and for myself, how ashamed I was to have come out of the belly of such an unhappy person.

Sarratore's son is really unbearable.

C'entriamo sempre e soltanto noi due: lei che vuole che io dia ciò che la sua natura e le circostanze le hanno impedito di dare, io che non riesco a dare ciò che lei pretende; lei che si arrabbia per la mia insufficienza e per ripicca vuole ridurmi a niente come ha fatto con se stessa, io che ho scritto mesi e mesi e mesi per darle una forma che non si smargini, e batterla, e calmarla, e così a mia volta calmarmi.

She felt that the years she had dedicated to him had been in vain

I began to weep with loneliness. What was I, who was I? I felt pretty again, my pimples were gone, the sun and the sea had made me slimmer, and yet the person I liked and whom I wished to be liked by showed no interest in me. What signs did I carry, what fate?

Places of the imagination are visited in books. Seen in reality they may be hard to recognize; they are disappointing, they might even seem fake.

My return to Naples was like having a defective umbrella that suddenly closes over your head in a gust of wind.