Quotes About Frustration

He felt blind and deaf, the way he did when he was close to a good idea but couldn't tap into it. He'd told Lizzie about that feeling once, and Lizzie had said, "That just means you aren't very smart, Reeve. Smart people have good ideas without having to be blind and deaf first.

If people could handle their self-loathing, customer service would be smoother.

You never sounded farther away from me and I will take that balloon and stab the fuck out of and at the same time I will take that balloon and tie it around Peach's neck because WHO THE FUCK CAN CUNT OUT OVER A BALLOON?

I wish it were socially acceptable to brandish a knife.

When I get nasty like that, it's like I'm standing outside of myself and I know I'm being terrible and irrational but there's nothing I can do about it.

I'll fucking kill Hugh Grant.

He doesn't hate me. He hates himself. If people could handle their self-loathing, customer service would be smoother.

you wasted my time. And you don't want me to be mad. You think the world works like that?

And part of the problem is that phone. You have that function on that fucking phone that enables you to know when your texts are opened and ignored.

It's the little things that make you want to kill someone, the way Milo drinks Diet Dr Pepper and ties his Jewfro in a bun and lifts his shirt to show off his stomach and wipes his glasses down even though they're not dirty. Yes, Milo got glasses, and seafoam green Topsiders, and a navy blue Polo-style shirt with a popped collar, and didn't I already kill this guy when he was schilling Home Soda and fucking Guinevere Beck?

The song "Born in the U.S.A." comes on and he groans. "I hate Bruce Springsteen," he says. "Can we do something about this? Goddamn whiny Democrat, we get it . You're from New Jersey and you think it's cool to be poor . Just fuck off already.

I try to help you move on, but you don't know why she hates you and it's all you want to talk about. Every. Fucking. Night. And it would be easier if these talks were happening on a park bench or your stoop or your sofa or your bed that I assembled but they're happening over the phone. And I can't smell you over the phone and I feel like a 1-900-Build-Me-Up hotline you call to feel good about yourself.

I'm your phone bitch and I don't like it. You don't want to know about my day.

Most 'normal' people in America are in the same boat right now, torn between wanting to save the people they're stuck with and wanting to fucking kill them.

Are you fucking kidding me, you lying thieving hairy-legged beast?

You have that function on that fucking phone that enables you to know when your texts are opened and ignored, and Benji he ignores the fuck out of you, he is more passionate about blowing you off than being inside of you.

When I get nasty like that, it's like I'm standing outside of myself and I know I'm being terrible and irrational but there's nothing I can do about it. I have serious PMS issues sometimes.

I feel like a lot of time my writing is like having about twenty boxes of Christmas decorations. But no tree. You're going, Where do I put this? Then they go, Okay, you can have a tree, but we'll blindfold you and you gotta cut it down with a spoon.

Yesterday was one of those days when nothing went right, and I wouldn't have noticed it if it had.

If he spoke, there was no possible outcome but another disastrous exchange of words at cross-purposes. The chances of him finding both the right words and the right inflection were, in his experience with her thus far, vanishingly small. He would either growl at her, or tell her what was in his heart.

I would knock your head against a Wall until it was soft as a baked apple!

I said, "Instant gratification takes too long." The glib martyr.

one of those unfortunate women who did not find nice men interesting. She found undesirables desirable. She sought out unpleasant boyfriends, then complained about them as though the government had allocated them to her.

I'm sorry it's not Mark—it could've been. It should've been. It might've meant something. Maybe not much, but certainly more.