Quotes About Unhappiness

I've been my most happy and my most unhappy in relationships. I have family and friends and people I care very much about. I've got a really, really, really good life.

I've had an unhappy life, thank God.

Her education only made her unhappy thinking about it - that no matter how much she changed her life, she could not change the world that surrounded her.

Linus: What would you say you want most out of life, Charlie Brown? To be happy? CB: Oh, no. I don't expect that. I really don't. I just don't want to be unhappy!

One reason for this ability to cope with disaster is that nothing ever happens to us except what happens in our minds. Unhappiness is an inward, not an outward, thing. It is as independent of circumstances as is happiness. Consider the truly happy people you know. I think it is unlikely that you will find that circumstances have made them happy. They have made themselves happy in spite of circumstances.

I soon discovered that I was getting used to being happy and unhappy at the same time, as if that were the new, inevitable law of my life.

I was enchanted. Languages for me have a secret venom that every so often foams up and for which there is no antidote. I remember the dialect on my mother's lips when she lost that gentle cadence and yelled at us, poisoned by her unhappiness: I can't take you anymore, I can't take any more. Commands, shouts, insults, life stretching into her words, as when a frayed nerve is just touched, and the pain scrapes away all self-control.

Languages for me have a secret venom that every so often foams up and for which there is no antidote. I remember the dialect on my mother's lips when she lost that gentle cadence and yelled at us, poisoned by her unhappiness: I can't take you anymore, I can't take any more.

Although I imposed on myself an appearance of self-assurance and an iron discipline, I gave in continuously, with painful pleasure, to waves of unhappiness.

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.

She talked to the child and her doll in the pleasing cadence of the Neapolitan dialect that I love, the tender language of playfulness and sweet nothings. I was enchanted. Languages for me have a secret venom that every so often foams up and for which there is no antidote. I remember the dialect on my mother's lips when she lost that gentle cadence and yelled at us, poisoned by her unhappiness: I can't take you anymore, I can't take any more.

what a terrible thing a dissatisfied mind is.

Languages for me have a secret venom that every so often foams up and for which there is no antidote. I remember the dialect on my mother's lips when she lost that gentle cadence and yelled at us, poisoned by her unhappiness: I can't take you anymore, I can't take any more. Commands, shouts, insults, life stretching into her words, as when a frayed nerve is just touched, and the pain scrapes away all self-control.

While it's true that, as Tolstoy observed, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, and everyone on planet Earth, vale of tears that it is, is certainly entitled to the specificity of his or her suffering, one nonetheless likes to think that literature has the power to render comprehensible different kinds of unhappiness. If it can't do that, what's it good for?

what was "Cinderella," if not an allegory for the fundamental unhappiness of shoe shopping?—

the more secular, materialistic, and compulsively extraverted our civilization became, the greater the unhappiness, 'senselessness and aimlessness' of our lives.

To lose one's self in reverie, one must be either very happy, or very unhappy. Reverie is the child of extremes.

The more refined one is, the more unhappy.

Medvienko: Why do you always wear black? Masha: I am in mourning for my life. I am unhappy

Silence accompanies the most significant expressions of happiness and unhappiness: those in love understand one another best when silent, while the most heated and impassioned speech at a graveside touches only outsiders, but seems cold and inconsequential to the widow and children of the deceased.

The unhappy are egotistical, base, unjust, cruel, and even less capable of understanding one another than are idiots. Unhappiness does not unite people, but separates them.

I am in mourning for my life. I am unhappy.

In the Dhammap?da, happiness and unhappiness are said to originate in the mind: 'Speak or act with a corrupted mind, And suffering follows As the wagon wheel follows the hoof of the ox. … Speak or act with a peaceful mind, And happiness follows Like a never-departing shadow.

Hell is of this world and there are men who are unhappy escapees from hell, escapees destined eternally to reenact their escape.