Quotes About Disappointment

There's always a Cena fan that wants to talk to me about it, and it drives me absolutely nuts. They'll come up to me in Cena stuff saying 'Why didn't you wrestle Cena?' Bro, I don't know.

I would say my most disappointing moment was not competing in a match even though I was Divas Champion at 'WrestleMania XXVII.' Although, I did get to be a part of a fun backstage segment with Stone Cold, the Rock, and Mae Young... not too shabby!

The only time I had an ego is I when wanted to have a reverse Undertaker record at WrestleMania, and they messed it up!

It was set to be my first WrestleMania, which is obviously a lifetime goal. To have that taken away from me right on the approach - we were something like three weeks out - was devastating. It certainly changed me as a person, that process.

I competed at 'WrestleMania 33,' and I'm telling you, leading up to what should have been the biggest moment of my life, I couldn't find an ounce of joy.

Probably the biggest thing for me was my Wrestlemania match getting cut; I don't think I ever really mentally recovered from that.

I had a very good babyface run, but establishing a monster heel - which I think I would have excelled at - and a poor WrestleMania track record is a hard pill to swallow.

I went to a wrestling school in Canada. That did not work out well, I think I was out there for like a week.

I remember looking up wrestling schools at the age of 10, and I emailed so many people. The responses were that I had to be 16 or 18 to train, and that was a bummer.

I was in all the Pay Per Views and all the house shows, and I thought I made a pretty good impact and helped change pro wrestling - not by myself, but definitely, I was a part of it in the Attitude Era. There is no recognition towards me or about me, and I'm kind of disappointed.

If you've been apartment or home shopping and left disgusted because a realtor brought you into a space that hadn't been updated since 1977, you've experienced the visitors clubhouse at Wrigley. Ceilings on top of you, lockers smashed together, plastic tables cluttering the floor and carpet ripped straight off the Brady Bunch stairs.

All of those years, I felt like 'Heaven's Gate' was a beautiful, fantastically colored balloon tied to a string fastened to my wrist, so the balloon could never fly.

I wanted to be a soccer player, and I became the best of the best, the number one, better than Maradona, better than Pele, and even better than Messi - but only at night, nighttime, during my dreams. When I wake up, I realized that I have wooden legs and that I'm doomed to be a writer.

As a writer, it's disheartening to write books that you pour your soul into and not have them distributed widely enough to find their audience.

The reality of the writer's world is that you set yourself up for future disappointment with every success that you deliver because you end up raising your audience's expectations.

There is no mistaking the dismay on the face of a writer who has just heard that his brain child is a deformed idiot.

No one writes for me exclusively, nor do lead roles come by that easily. 'Dulla Bhatti' was one, but I was so disappointed with the film.

You lost your copper as well as your faith in wishes, and prayers.

arriving rarely makes you as happy as you anticipate. p 84

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child.

After the pain of this disappointment her heart once more stood empty, and the succession of identical days began again.

Before her marriage she had thought that she had love within her grasp; but since the happiness which she had expected this love to bring her hadn't come, she supposed she must have been mistaken. And Emma tried to imagine just what was meant, in life, by the words "bliss," "passion," and "rapture" - words that had seemed so beautiful to her in books.

His wife had been wild about him at first; she had treated him with an amorous servility that had turned him against her all the more. Vivacious, effusive, and very loving in the early days, over the years she had, like a stale wine that turns to vinegar, grown ill-humoured, waspish, and nervy.

Anyway, what was the use? Women's hearts were like those desks full of secret drawers that fit one inside another; you struggle with them, you break your fingernails, and at the bottom you find a withered flower, a little dust, or nothing at all!