Quotes About Frustration

Like, with one arm I know I can surf, but competitive surfing can be really frustrating, and sometimes you don't do as well as you want to. It can be discouraging at times. But whenever I do get frustrated, I just focus on God.

I wanted to be a writer, but at the time, I spent my days working a retail job, my nights sleeping in my childhood bedroom, and while I had written short stories here and there, I didn't know how to write good fiction anymore than I knew how to perform good brain surgery.

And there have certainly been movies I wanted to be in and milestones I wanted to surpass that did not happen.

If you take away people's identity and their ability through the ballot box to determine their future, don't be surprised if they turn to extremes or violence or anything else.

It feels overwhelming to be recognised for 'Pink.' Surprisingly, all the frustration, angst of not being recognised for my talent and work all these years has disappeared overnight, and I am left only with gratitude.

I'd like to go out in the front yard and shout something. "None of this is worth it!" That's what I'd like people to hear.

What good are insights? They only make things worse.

She kept talking. She told everyone. There was more to it, and she was trying to get it talked out. After a time, she quit trying.

I'd like to go out in the front yard and shout something. None of this is worth it! That's what I'd like people to hear.

I knocked stuff out of the medicine cabinet. Things rolled into the sink. 'Where's the aspirin?' I said. I knocked down more things. I didn't care. 'Goddamn it,' I said. Things kept falling.

I'd like to go out in the front yard and shout something. 'None of this is worth it!' That's what I'd like people to hear.

Everything a writer learns about the art or craft of fiction takes just a little away from his need or desire to write at all. In the end he knows all of the tricks and has nothing to say.

However hard I try to be nice I always end up with my nose in the dirt and my thumb feeling for somebody's eye.

I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun.

I had been stalking the bluebottle fly for five minutes, waiting for him to sit down. He didn't want to sit down. He just wanted to do wing-overs and sing the prologue to Pagliacci. I had the fly swatter poised in midair and I was all set. There was a patch of bright sunlight on the corner of the desk and I knew that sooner or later that was where he was going to light. But when he did, I didn't even see him at first. The buzzing stopped and there he was. And then the phone rang.

Maybe we all get like this in the cold half-lit world where always the wrong thing happens and never the right.

There are days like that. Everybody you meet is a dope. You begin to look at yourself in the glass and wonder.

I'm a weak character, without guts or ambition. I caught the brass ring and it shocked me to find out it wasn't gold. A guy like me has one big moment in his life, one perfect swing on the high trapeze. Then he spends the rest of his time trying not to fall off the sidewalk into the gutter.

I got back on the runway and took all of it and some of the hedge and gave the front door the heavy shoulder. This was foolish. About the only part of a California house you can't put your foot through is the front door. All it did was hurt my shoulder and make me mad.

Uh-huh. Could be,' I said. It was a spot for a paragraph of lucid prose. Henry Clarendon IV would have obliged. I didn't have a damn thing more to say.

Oh hell and fireflies," I said and went out to the kitchen and gobbled a quick drink, before we started. It didn't do me any good. It just made me want to climb up the wall and gnaw my way across the ceiling.

What do you do when you get mad—dance a tango with a ground squirrel?

It is always the little things that make you sore.

My left foot felt fine. It didn't have an ache in it. So I had to kick the corner of the bed with it.