Quotes About Disappointment

In May 1919 Berle, assuming the stagy veneer of cynicism of a disappointed crusader, wrote his father, "I have come to the conclusion that no statement of ideals by anybody will ever get any reaction from me again. If I can trust myself I shall be happy; if I trust anyone else I shall be a fool.

It's impossible to protect your kids against disappointment in life.

Maybe she has wasted her life dreaming about something that was never entirely real.

I'm forever near a stereo saying, 'What the fuck is this garbage?' And the answer is always the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Why leave me hanging on a star When you deem me so high When you deem me so high When you deem me so high And why leave me sailing in a sea When you hear me so clear When you hear me so clear When you hear me so clear And why leave me hanging on a star When you deem me so high When you deem me so high When you deem me so high

much of an anticlimax. Miming feels pretty daft at the

There are two pains in life. There is the pain of discipline and the pain of disappointment. If you can handle the pain of discipline, then you'll never have to deal with the pain of disappointment.

Sometimes I feel like my whole life has been a long, long wait for something horrible that never actually happened. Like I've been in water, up to my neck, fighting to stay afloat, year after year. But if only I'd felt for the bottom I'd have found it. It was there. The ocean bed, just below where I was treading. It was there.

always expect the worst because in the end you wont be disappointed...

The failure of progress has not consisted in the non-fulfillment but in the fulfillment of its promises.

We met each other when we were young, before we knew enough about disappointment, and once we did we found we reminded each other of it.

What—what gold-thing did you buy her?" "A goldfish," Matt says. I groan, "She wanted jewelry, Matt. Like a ring." Matt winces. Then he shrugs. "Well, she didn't say that." I sigh. "She meant it." He shrugs. "She didn't say it." "Matt!" I groan. He tries to seem innocent. He says, "She just said buy her something gold.

I thought that somehow your life would be much different when you're famous... and it's not. You just buy more stuff.

When something goes wrong, such as failing an exam to qualify as a doctor, a person may seem to be despairing over something that has been lost. But on closer inspection, according to Kierkegaard, it becomes obvious that the man is not really despairing of the thing (failing an exam) but of himself. The self that failed to achieve a goal has become intolerable. The man wanted to become a different self (a doctor), but he is now stuck with a failed self and in despair.

Do we ever get what we really want? Do we ever achieve what our powers have ostensibly equipped us for? No: everything works by contraries.

Wonderful, darling Oksana, allow me to kiss you!" the encouraged blacksmith said and pressed her to him with the intention of snatching a kiss; but Oksana withdrew her cheeks, which were a very short distance from the blacksmith's lips, and pushed him away. "What more do you want? He's got honey and asks for a spoon! Go away, your hands are harder than iron. And you smell of smoke. I suppose you've made me all sooty.

I suppose I do complain sometimes. Who doesn't? We all know (or believe secretly) that when we were children we were happy and trusting and hopeful and good and that we would still be all these pleasant things if sometime, somewhere, somehow, we had not been betrayed.

For a time it seemed their marriage would be just another houseplant that had failed to thrive, choked to death by the lack of money and the death of dreams

if our definition of happiness is "experiencing that which is pleasurable," we are going to be disappointed a lot of the time.

And then the dreams break into a million tiny pieces. The dream dies. Which leaves you with a choice: you can settle for reality, or you can go off, like a fool, and dream another dream.

Despair was strength. Despair was the scab and the scar. The walled city in a time of plague. A closed fortification. A sure thing, because it was always safer, less painful to stop trying than it was to repeatedly try and fail. Failure-disappointment-was a poison in my blood. Despair was the antidote.

I was boring myself. That's the worst part of a bad date. It makes you feel like a toad, and you keep telling yourself, "I know I'm more fun than this, and I know that when I came into this café I wasn't in despair about the human condition.

The day after, bloody revolutions seem always to disappoint, and in the scramble to the top, those with the most blood on their hands seem always to get there first.

I had sucked on the tit of disillusionment and teethed on the bitter root of cynicism. I was on the way to the misanthropy that would sour me.