Quotes About Frustration

Running me off, are you? What about all this 'me Breed, you mate' crap you're always spouting?

At its base, the male, whether human, animal or Breed, has a core nature equal to that of a sullen child denied a favored treat. And the male can react accordingly—

Jessica, you are a pain in the arse, do you know that? If I were not so immensely fond of you, I should throw you out the window. She wrapped her arms about his waist and laid her head against his chest. Not merely 'fond,' but 'immensely fond.' Oh Dain, I do believe I shall swoon. Not now, he said crossly. I haven't time to pick you up.

She longed to throw something at him. A chair. Herself.

Can I tell that from her ear Axel? No, I can't. Why don't you go sit down somewhere and stop pacing behind me.

I didn't know how to communicate my suffering to anyone else. My anger was returning. I was screaming for help, but the language I was speaking no one seemed to understand.

Her life] had taken on the shape of a terrible mistake. She hadn't been given the proper tools to make a real life with, she decided, that was it. She'd been given a can of gravy and a hair-brush and told, There you go. She'd stood there for years, blinking and befuddled, brushing the can with the brush.

Women now were told not to settle for second best, told that they deserved better, but at a time, it seemed, when there was so much less to go around.

Get a Job, she shouted silently to God. Get a real Job.

Back at home, days later, feel cranky and tired. Sit on the couch and tell him he's stupid. That you bet he doesn't know who Coriolanus is. That since you moved in you've noticed he rarely reads. He will give you a hurt, hungry-to-learn look, with his James Cagney eyes. He will try to kiss you. Turn your head. Feel suffocated. (from How)

She thought of gorillas, how when they had been kept too long alone in cages, they would smack each other in the head instead of mating.

Try to figure out what has made your life go wrong. It is like trying to figure out what is stinking up the refrigerator. It could be anything. The lid off the mayonnaise, Uncle Ron's honey wine four years in the left corner. Broccoli yellowing, flowering fast. They are all metaphors. They are all problems.

We don't do that in New York, rasped Odette. She cleared her throat. No? Pinky smiled and put his hand on her thigh. No, it's, um, the cash machines. You just… you wait at them. Forever. Your whole life you're just always — her hand sliced the air—there.

She hadn't been given the proper tools to make a real life with, she decided, that was it. She'd been given a can of gravy and a hairbrush and told, "There you go." She'd stood there for years, blinking and befuddled, brushing the can with the brush. Still

I'm a solitary sort, I get chaffed by too many elbows.

Mixed with this frustration was the suspicion that Northern lives were being wasted because of mismanagement and political meddling, a suspicion reinforced by Lincoln's firing of McClellan, who, despite his poor showing in the field, was widely respected as a military professional. These are the views reflected in Holmes's letter. They were Copperhead views, but one did not need to be a Democrat in the fall of 1862 to share them.

If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs, "The bark on the tree was just a little bit softer." While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, He cries to the moo—oo—oon, "If only, if only.

The next time I get a cat, I'll kill him. Then he'll never run away," said Kathy.

If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs, "The bark on the tree was just a little bit softer." While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely

I can get on with wild beasts first-rate; but men rile me awfully…

I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy, and it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa, and I can only stay home and knit like a poky old woman (Josephine)

Boys don't gush, so I can stand it. The last time I let in a party of girls, one fell into my arms and said, Darling, love me! I wanted to shake her,' answered Mrs. Jo, wiping her pen with energy.

I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copy-books; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end, he said, dolefully.

I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa. And I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman.